


à la folie

by pan_dora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chimeras, Drug Use, F/M, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, It has feelings, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pack Dynamics, Post-Canon, Scott is a questionable friend and alpha, Slow Burn, Steo, Stiles Stilinski Speaks Polish, Stiles/Theo - Freeform, Theo is an idiot who doesn't think things through, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, What else is new, and Stiles has to deal with his mess, kanima lore, kol'ksu, mentions of cheating, mentions of trauma, more canon compliant than not, now look at this mess, prompt, this was also supposed to be a short fun story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-11-15 03:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 68,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18065396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_dora/pseuds/pan_dora
Summary: After the beast has been dealt with, things very slowly calm down. But they are far from returning to normal. While they are all working through everything that has happened since the start of the school year, Theo starts to behave weirder than usual, and for some reason, Stiles finds himself smack in the middle of another problem, he isn't ready to deal with.Fuck Theo Raeken.Seriously.





	1. pas du tout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FandomSlash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomSlash/gifts).



> We pause Pressure Point to bring to you this story which has been haunting my dreams for the last two weeks. You think I'm kidding, I'm not. I was doing research left and right until I dreamt about being a kanima master. It was very weird. 
> 
> Anyway, it was supposed to be a one-shot. But it got longer and longer. That's why I decided to split it in two parts. I like it more when it's not a giant wall of text - and I'm also still not finished with the whole thing. So, yeah. Have at it. 
> 
> Also, also, fair warning: although Scott's not a major part of the story, his past deeds will be critiqued. If I figure out a tag for that, I'll go tag it. So, consider yourself warned. Please.

There’s a calculated risk in calling Lydia after twelve a.m. She either picks up wide awake reading some research paper or she'll bring God's righteous fury upon whoever dares to disturb her beauty sleep. Not that she needs any. Which he told her. He's smooth like that sometimes. Didn’t help at all. She made him carry her shopping bags four weekends in a row. He hadn’t known how heavy designer clothes and shoes could be until he’s heaved them around for four hours straight - and to add insult to injury Natalie made him carry hers as well. For being a bad influence on her daughter. He doesn’t understand why people are so judgmental. All he wants is to keep this town safe and wholesome.

“ _Stiles_ , this bet-"

“He’s back.”

Lydia lets out a breath. “Who’s back?”

Stiles walks to his desk and glances out the window. At the corner of their street, in front of a creepy white van, parks a black truck. He didn’t go and check the license plate to be a hundred percent sure because he didn’t need to. Out of a sea of black trucks, he would recognise this one immediately. It has this very special kind of aura.

“Theo,” he says turning his back to the window. They defeated the beast four days ago. He is finally allowed back to school after staying home to rest. Luckily, the shard of glass didn't damage anything vital. It still hurts like a bitch. And Theo is supposed to be gone.

“What do you mean, he’s back?”

Stiles fidgets with a pen, clicking it in rapid succession before dropping it on his books. “I thought Scott exiled him.” Which certainly was the more humane option than letting Kira do whatever she wanted to do. Theo has Lydia to thank for that, tho, so why the hell is he stalking _him_?

“Well, you said it yourself-" she taps a fingernail against something hard, the cover of a book perhaps- “the Hale territory fell into Satomi's hands, not Scott's.” Meaning Theo is only forced to leave when _she_ tells him to. Stiles doubts that will be happening any time soon. Satomi follows a set of strict rules, and Buddha’s anti-anger and pro-forgiveness movements are very important for that lifestyle. The woman is basically the pinnacle of forgiving the unforgivable; so why would she send someone away who hasn’t hurt her or her pack personally?

Stiles rubs a hand up and down his upper arm. “Why's he parked at my place?”

“Sweetheart," Lydia sighs, “you are the last person who needs to worry about Theo.” It’s almost like a running gag between them. Still, there’s something off in her voice whenever she says it.

Furrowing his brows, Stiles massages his temple. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Go to bed, Stiles.”

 

Nobody says anything when Theo sits down next to him. Liam opens his mouth but Mason elbows him, and that’s the end of that story. Stiles is surprised the guy has the courage to come near them. Just because it's unlikely that Satomi will send him away doesn’t mean he’s entirely safe. Malia and Liam might still crack his skull if they find him in a dark, unsupervised alley. In case that thought has crossed his mind, Theo doesn’t seem to be particularly bothered by it. He smirks instead and casually leans back against the bleachers, gaze resting on Stiles. It almost looks like he’s waiting for something.

It makes his hair stay on end. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Mason exchanges a quick glance with Corey, then they turn to Liam who pretends he doesn't notice shit. Which is hardly believable judging by the lacrosse stick that’s seconds away from snapping under pressure. His eyes remain on the pitch, however, following Gabe's every move, who has his mind set on becoming the next team captain. A feat that’s hardly impossible. The guy knows what he’s doing, and he’s not exactly shy about it.

“Never mind then.” Huffing out a breath, Stiles yanks the bestiary out of his backpack. He winces, drops it and slows his movements squeezing his eyes shut. Fucking fuck. _Fuck_. First the bite, then the glass shard. His poor shoulders. Stiles really wonders what part of his body comes next – a question not quite unimportant seeing that they already have yet another unruly supernatural creature roam around town.

Theo lifts the bestiary up and places it on his thighs. “You good?” It’s a stupid question. Does he look like he’s good? His poor human body needs more than an hour to heal. Not everyone can be a roly-poly doll after having their neck snapped. That’s just how life goes – and Stiles had every intention to let it go but the asshole reaches for him, eyebrows brought together with a frown.

Stiles swats his hand away. “Don't.”

“Just let me-"

“Leave it!” Stiles grabs his hand and pushes it away. The feel of his palm is prominent against his own, surprisingly soft and warm. A stark reminder of that night in his car, and yet so different. Too intense. The touch wraps around him, tugs at his mind.

Theo grows oddly still, stares at him with a mouth falling open to a soundless _oh_.

“You guys okay?” Corey asks hesitantly.

Stiles flinches and lets go of Theo's hand. “Peachy.” He shakes his head – that was so weird – and drags the bestiary onto his thighs, flips it open with his thumb. _Focus. Back on topic._ He clears his throat, “we basically have two options to get rid of the Kol’Ksu. We either cut it in half or leave it on the sand to dry.” Both nasty but probably necessary. Getting near it very likely results in death. These creatures aren’t like werewolves. They’re animals who follow their instincts and they have attitude problems, apparently. Who knew?

“When are we doing it?”

Simultaneously, Liam, Mason, Corey, and Stiles turn to look at Theo who raises his brows. At this point no one is surprised about his willingness to kill, it’s more his boldness that comes unexpected – and people say Stiles dallies over self-destructive mannerisms. “I don’t recall me saying ‘mongrel, speak’,” he notes before turning back around. “Anyway, I hav-"

“Scott told me to tell you we don’t kill,” Liam interrupts without warning.

Stiles snaps his mouth shut. It’s a carnivorous goblin looking like an undisneylike mermaid. What the hell are they supposed to do? Fish it out of whatever lake it currently calls home and toss it back into the ocean? He presses a hand to his temple when he feels his temper flare up. Okay so, they don’t kipper the Kol'Ksu but it’s totally legit to bring back a ruthless murderer to manipulate another one into killing traumatized teenagers? Cool. Good to know. Fantastic. Stiles slams the bestiary shut and shoves it into his backpack, locking away any noise of pain that could betray him. He needs to walk this off. He needs to get rid of this anger. If he lets it control him like that, some bad shit is going to go down. “Then tell Scott I told you to tell him he can work on the plan by himself." Is he unfair? Probably. Does he want to save this town without further losses? Definitively. Is he over the no-killing rule? To a certain degree. But it’s quite simple: is it human? Talk to it. Is it a murderous animal without any sort of human mental and social concept? _Put it the fuck down_.

Maybe he should let Theo do it. The Kol’ksu will certainly be deader than dead. If there’s a single person who would do murder properly, it’ll definitively be that stupid chimera. For fuck's sake, what is he even thinking? Theo isn't a solution for anyone or anything.

Shaking his head, Stiles slings the backpack over his good shoulder. Fine. If Scott wants to talk it out, he is going to find someone who acts instead – and he knows just who to go to.

 

“So, you skipped school to drive to Devenford Prep?” Lydia shuffles around in her bed and leans towards her laptop, hair covering part of the bandage around her throat.

Stiles props his chin on both his hands. “Yeah, I’m done sitting around waiting for action.”

“Imagine my surprise when I saw him and his poodle stroll up to me.” Brett flips a page in his biology book with the enthusiasm of a five-star cook inspecting a French fries stall.

Lydia quirks a brow. “His _poodle_?”

“Yeah, the guy, uh, what’s his face?” He frowns, although it’s hard to determine if that’s because of his overdue homework or his terrible memory. “Mason was raving about him the other day.” Brett snaps his fingers as if that’s going to help him kickstart his memory more than perhaps putting the book down for a second.

“Theo,” Stiles offers eventually, grabbing the energy drink standing next to his laptop and takes a cautious sip; only to put it back where he found it. Yeah, that’s not tasty anymore. Which really begs the question of how many energy drinks he’s had in the last five days. There’s a shitton of empty cans in the box under the kitchen sink. Which would explain why his father more or less subtle put a newly prescribed box of Adderall on his nightstand. He knows his ADHD medication doesn’t make a good combination with energy drinks. He also knows Stiles doesn’t mix these two, but he probably hopes he chooses the proper medication over cans and cans of energy drinks.

Brett points in the general direction of his webcam. “That’s the one.”

“You took _Theo_ with you?” Lydia stares at him as if he’s grown a second head when the real shocker here is that Brett compares Theo to a goddamn poodle of all things. He’s pro dog-jokes regarding werewolves but they have to _fit._ Theo is the least poodely poodle to ever poodle. He’s more like a chihuahua: tiny, loud and aggressive.

Stiles points at his shoulder. “I’m not allowed to drive yet, and he offered. The fuck was I supposed to do? Take the bus?”

“Not even twenty-four hours ago you were worried the big bad chimera will eat you in your sleep-“

“I’ve never been worried he would eat me in my sleep,” Stiles interrupts. This isn’t funny, all right? Why does she pretend this is funny? This is a serious matter, and her disregarding behaviour is just plain rude. He has feelings, too, and if they are directed at Theo, they mostly consist of anger, sometimes exhaustion, and sometimes something he’s rather not putting a name to.

“He might eat you but not in the way you think.” Finally, Brett looks up from his book and winks at him.

Stiles stares at him with an open mouth and heat creeping up his neck. He saved his _life_ , he wrote him a cheater for his econ exam, he is willing to spend his evening helping him with his biology homework, and still, this guy has the nerve, the _audacity_ , to virtually come into his house and throw him under the bus like that without batting an eye? _Unbelievable_.

Lydia makes an odd squealing sound Stiles only identifies as laughter because of her crinkled eyes and shaking shoulders. _Wow_. The shit he has to put up with.

“Brett, your face starts to trigger me.”

“ _Oooh_.” Smirking, he leans closer to his laptop wiggling his brows. “Don’t let the poodle hear you dig me.”

Stiles groans and sinks deeper into his chair. Why does he keep doing this to himself? Can't he befriend a single non-asshole anymore? It’s not a secret to anybody that he’s incapable of making friends like a normal person. He adopts people as if he’s a frick-fracking social worker. Something that can get really exhausting over time. There’s a reason he’s paranoid and distrusting of basically every single person he meets for the first time; it’s his very own implemented natural selection, and if someone makes the cut, they’re in for the long haul. There aren’t any criteria. It’s just _yes_ or _no_ at this point. Sometimes, he at least gets people like Liam or Mason. They’re silenced with a single scathing look. Lydia and Brett? Not so much. They only dig their claws in even more.

“I’m just saying,” Brett continues over Lydia’s breathless laughter, “Poodle's obsessed with you.” Every single brain cell fires at the same time only to come up with a resounding nothing. Well _shit_. Brett’s right. No matter how much it pains him to agree with him or accept it – his choice of words need a bit of fine-tuning, though - Brett _is_ right. Out of all the people Theo decided to schmooze, he chose Stiles. The only one out of the group distrusting him from the very beginning. He’s had his chances to let him die. He didn’t. Even after Stiles has called him out on his shit and punched him in the face, the guy has refused to kick him to the curb.

Doesn’t mean he has to say it out loud. “He wanted most of us for his pack.”

Lydia straightens her blanket with a smirk. “He doesn’t creep around my street at night.”

“Oh, someone's being wooed.” Brett cackles.

“You know what? I hate both of you.”  

 

“ _Stiles_.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Scott tousles his hair, then stares down at his lunch with a frown. If he tells him one more time to be the ‘bigger person’ Stiles will flip his shit. He’s got stuff on his own plate to work through; enough that he can’t deal with the emotional baggage of someone choosing him as their anchor. Of course, he agreed to help her, but he’s never been asked to become anybody’s emotional stability – he’s never agreed to _this_.

Stiles thanks the cashier and takes his own lunch tray. Scott stays quiet, and silence hangs heavy between them. No jokes, no casual conversations, not even eye contact. They walk next to each like two strangers, unaware of the other's presence despite their proximity. There’s a shitload of conversations they need to have too. They talked about the reasons Stiles hasn’t told him about what happened to Donovan. They’ve never spoken about why Scott believed Theo’s lies, why he believed Stiles could bash someone’s head in in cold blood. But it’s not just he who’s in desperate need of a conversation. It’s Liam, it’s Corey, it’s Hayden, and with all that chaos subsiding that’s becoming more evident each day. Not too long ago, Scott laughed about Stiles’ fear of the pack falling apart. Now that the fissures are there, they shouldn't be ignored any longer. Still, they walk in silence. More habit than a conscious decision at this point.

They reach the table Liam, Mason, Hayden, and Corey sit at. Two rows down, Malia sits with Sydney. They don’t talk but Malia stares in their direction. Stiles puts his tray down, Scott raps his fingers against the underside of his. The sophomore part of their pack lowers their voices when Scott eventually turns away from them. “See you in- in...” He trails off, realising they don’t share classes any longer. Something neither of them considered while Stiles had accompanied him to summer school and got rid of all his required classes long before senior year. “See you later.”

Stiles shrugs. “Sure.” They won't see each other today. Not deliberately at least. Which is fine. To live and let live. Same goes for Malia. If she wants to talk to him again, Stiles isn’t going to turn her away. But he’s not changing his stance on that matter. She needs her alpha. She needs a different anchor because Stiles isn’t going to be pressured into a situation, he has never wanted to become a part of. This whole anchor thing can be good if both are on board with the whole connecting to humanity debacle. When the anchor doesn’t know about the sudden responsibility forced upon them, things are drastically changing. It works for Liam and Hayden because they are in the same boat, they know the signs, they are aware of their roles and, first and foremost, consent has been given.

Massaging his shoulder, Stiles collapses onto his chair.

“Awkward,” Hayden fake-whispers and glares when Liam elbows her.

Mason widens his eyes. “It’s about to get worse.”

The chair next to him drags over the floor, and Theo sets his tray down. The dark circles underneath his eyes sing about a sleepless night. In fact, having breakfast for lunch seems about right in terms of his daily cycle, whereas Liam isn’t exactly thrilled about having to eat French toast with potato puffs judging by the daggers he shoots at the food in front of him. Maybe he should’ve read the meal plan for the month, then he could’ve prepared better.

Stiles scrutinises the chimera as he plops one of the potato puffs whole into his mouth. “Don’t you have a mirror?”

Corey and Hayden exchange a quick glance, then pull their shoulders up and lower their heads. Stiles swears he saw a tiny grin on the latter’s lips.

Theo downs the food with some water. “I know I’m hot no matter what I wear.” He smirks briefly at Stiles before continuing to inhale his food.

Mason furrows his brows. Liam rolls his eyes. Stiles can sympathise with both. Chewing on the straw of his juice box – yes, he went full-on breakfast mode – he reaches out and squeezes the collar of the dark-grey cardigan. “You’ve got some blood there.” He inspects his fingers. “It’s not even dry.”

Hayden searches her former alpha’s face suspiciously yet it’s Liam who asks, “who did you kill?”

Theo groans, pulling apart his French toast with his fingers. “I haven’t killed anybody today.”

“You make it sound like that’s a difficult task.” Stiles narrows his eyes. There’s something fishy about his behaviour. It's not just the way he devours his lunch or the dark circles underneath his eyes. It’s the fact that Theo doesn't pick a fight he knows he'll lose. If there’s even the tiniest chance of success, he will reach for the stars but he doesn’t grapple with a lost cause. Never. Yet, here he is. Like an idiot, believing he still comes out on top by being bitter about _not_ having killed someone.

Hayden leans over the table and points at the collar of Theo’s cardigan. “So, you just happened to stand next to a fountain of blood?” That’s a little dramatic, still, the question is valid.

Theo stares at her blankly for about two seconds, then turns his attention back to his food. “I tracked that thing down.” He bends down, almost shovelling the French toast into his mouth. “Tried to kill it.” His eyes flick up, meeting Stiles’ briefly. He swallows heavily, licks his lips. “It’s elusive.” He clears his throat and lowers his head uncapping his water. When he continues eating this time, Theo’s stopped acting as if this is the best and only food he’s had in forever.

Stiles sighs. At this point, he is pretty sure this lunch period can’t get any weirder. Then again, they’re in Beacon Hills. Even thinking that may cause a cosmic disturbance and bring terror to the town, of which they’ve had an abundance the last few weeks, months, _years_. College can’t come quick enough. A new start. No werewolves. No weird murders. No sneaking out in the middle of the night to check on dead bodies. No running for his life. Paradise on earth. He’ll take two hours of sleep and twenty-two hours of studying over supernatural shenanigans any day.

“I thought we don’t kill it?” Liam seems uncertain.

Hayden gives him a funny look. “It’s a _fish_.”

“I thought it’s a mermaid?” Mason asks dipping his potato puff in the herbal dip. One could assume he’s eating dip with a puff instead of the other way around.

“It’s a goblin with attitude problems.” Stiles sips on his juice, quirking his brows. “There’s nothing human about it.”

“That’s what the books say.” It’s just one book, the bestiary to be exact, and while Liam’s scepticism can be applied to ninety-percent of articles on the internet, this particular book can usually be trusted.

Mason gapes at his best friend as if he’s been personally insulted. “It’s the _bestiary_.”

Theo swallows his French toast. “That thing screamed at me.” Why does he sound as if that’s such an unusual thing to do? Stiles constantly has the urge to scream at him. It’s a reasonable reaction to the chimera’s presence. “Then it bit me.” Theo tugs at the collar of his shirt. _Oh_ , so that’s his own blood?

Stiles puts his juice box down and frowns. “Why did you go after it? Brett said Satomi'll deal wi-"

“Wait, you _believe_ him?” Liam points a finger at Theo, eyes narrowed. “The guy who manipulated and lied to us ever since he set foot in this town?”

White, hot anger erupts in the pit of his stomach, spreads through his veins and overpowers him without any chance to flee from it. He slams his hands on the table, palms stinging, and gets to his feet. The chair scrapes over the floor, nearly toppling over. Around him, conversations quiet and attention shifts. He can feel people looking at him. But he couldn’t care less. “ _You_ want to hold that against _me_?” He leans forward, and Liam shrinks in his seat, eyes growing wide. Words echo painfully inside Stiles’ skull. _You trusted him too._ Like hell he did. “I warned you. Over and over again. Every single one of you ignored _me_.”

“That's not true,” Liam whispers casting his eyes down. “I believed you.” His words are like a punch to the gut. “But then he saved you and Lydia and Hayden and me.” Swallowing heavily, Liam pushes his tray away, pulls his shoulders up, and all the fight just leaves Stiles. He understands. He really does. Not everybody is like him. Not everyone is paranoidly watching people the way he does. Not everyone goes over every single fucking word or gesture with a fine-tooth comb. People trust. People start trusting other people who help them, who are nice to them, who save their lives.

Stiles collapses back into his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s okay.”

“God, I feel like an idiot.”

Liam curls his lips into a grim smile. “I couldn’t look at you until recently because I stopped trusting you and fell for his charade.” He juts his chin in Theo’s direction, who doesn’t move or look up and instead keeps staring at the last piece of French toast on his tray. “So, who’s the idiot now?”

Stiles lets out a short, breathless laugh and shakes his head. “I lost my nerve in AP psychology too, can’t wait for Natalie to call my dad.”

“Oh, that was _you_?” Corey asks quirking his brows. “We heard Mr. Lelievre yell in the room next door.”

Mason nods. “What did you _do_?” Their AP psychology teacher is strict but okay as long as his students play by his rules. Stiles has never had any sort of problems with him. They had a lot of discussions about different subjects. It was fun. It _is_ fun. The human psyche is like a universe on LSD. But today he kind of _snapped_.

“He corrected Lelievre and asked him if he’d studied psychology at all.” Theo plops the last piece of food into his mouth and leans back. His lips spread into a wide grin when he finds Stiles’ eyes. He holds his gaze while the others are hiccupping with laughter. To be fair, it’s not that funny. Nothing about the whole thing should cause more than a grin or a roll of eyes. But somehow, Stiles gets the feeling that it’s not really about what happened. It’s more the normalcy linked to the statement. Stiles mouthed off to someone is like saying Lydia outsmarts all of them. It’s nothing new. Although to be fair, it _is_ new that he told a teacher they’re stupid in a roundabout way.

But Stiles isn’t going to point that out. He offers Theo a tiny grin instead and lets the atmosphere shift back to normal. They got it out of their system. They apologised. Case closed.

If only it could always be that easy.

 

“Stilinski, why aren’t you in gear?”

“’cause I had a glass shard lodged in my shoulder, Coach. I _can’t_ play.” And even if he could, what the hell is he supposed to do? Devenford is wiping the floor with them – as they always do. Only a fucking miracle would change the disastrous outcome of this massacre.

Gabe throws his stick on the floor. “Like that loser is going to help us win.”

Theo glances up from his phone screen, stare fixed on the junior for a few seconds, then he returns to play his mobile game. His presence at the scrimmage is completely unnecessary. He hates lacrosse, has zero school spirit and couldn't care less about socialising. Still, here he sits right next to him on the team’s bench. Stiles is about 98 percent sure Coach has no idea who he is and that he isn't on the team. Again, nobody says anything. Theo follows him around like a shadow attached to him the second he enters the school building. He eerily exists in his space. Stiles is also pretty sure he saw his truck the last two nights in the same spot. If this gets worse, he'll report him for stalking.

“I don’t see you doing anything vital.” Liam pulls his helmet off and clams it underneath his arm.

Gabe glares at him. “At least I don’t roll over whenever Talbot comes towards me.”

“No, you just tried to foul him.” Stiles tosses Liam his water bottle. “How about you actually watch his movements instead of trying to trip him?”

“You're one to talk,” Gabe sneers uncapping his own drink. “The only reason you’re on the team is because Coach befriended your loser father during those AA meetings and probably pities your hyperactive ass.”

Stiles is on his feet quicker than expected. His fingers twitch, curl into tight fists. Punching him would be so, _so_ satisfying. But he's on the bench, so he's on the field. Going through with it can get his team into serious trouble. Even arguing can lead to consequences nobody needs in an already dire situation.

He’s never been good at staying quiet. “You better shut that mouth before I do it for you.”

Before Gabe can move, Theo slips between them, shoulders a rigid line.

Coach waves dismissively in their direction. “Stop that nonsense.” But he is too busy discussing the game with Scott to actually bother dispersing the brewing fight. Typical. Coach isn’t as involved in the anti-bullying campaign of the school when both participants can defend themselves – and until nobody’s actually breaking any bones, the problem is manageable.

“This is what you bring to the table, Stilinski?” Gabe asks leaning down to be face to face with Theo. “A hooligan in a pink sweater? That’s cute.”

A low growl cuts through the following silence. A sound Gabe heard judging by his bug-eyed expression.

Liam and Stiles move simultaneously. The former shoves Gabe backwards. Stiles yanks Theo around by his upper arm. “What is it with you?” He spins and shoves him until there’s a satisfying distance between them and Gabe, whose snide comments won’t be forgotten. But it’s more important to keep his team from disciplinary measures than putting that asshole in his place.

Theo points at him. “He said-

“I’ve _heard_ what he said,” Stiles says through his teeth, the familiar burn of indignation in his chest. After everything, Theo of all people thinks he needs to be protected from someone like Gabe? Seriously. “Also, I’m aware he deserves to be beaten up with a hammer or a baseball bat or something equally hard.” Maybe that’ll get him off his high horse or at the very least set his mind straight. “But not here.” Stiles fights his own battles, thank you very much.

Furrowing his brows, Theo looks up at him. His lips are turned down in an almost frown. “I just wanted to-”

“Prove you’re one of the good guys now?” Stiles barks out a short, humourless laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t fall for that the first time. What makes you think that’ll change now?”

Nonplussed, Theo opens his mouth, closes it and pulls his shoulders up in a slow, half-hearted shrug. 

“ _Exactly_. Now piss off.” Stiles turns away without checking if he follows the command. This guy seriously needs to chill out. His behaviour has been borderline creepy when he came to town and tried to win them all over. But this? His nightly visits that aren’t really visits but actually more like patrols? The fact that he went after the Kol’Ksu although nobody told him to? His constant being around? Now,  _this_? Stiles cannot handle all that without resorting to punching Theo in the face again.

 

Gabe ended up in the hospital with serious injuries. Nobody knows what exactly happened, and he refuses to tell anyone. Doctors say the bones in his hand have been crushed by a hammer. Theo has vanished from the face of the earth as well, which is not looking good in terms of his innocence. Nobody has seen him, and everybody pretends as if that’s not totally weird. His sudden absence makes Stiles fidgety. He either expects him to pop up every turn he takes or hear of some murder or catastrophe involving him.

Lydia glares at him for a second, then returns her attention to the street. Despite his shoulder being almost completely healed – there will be a scar, another reminder of his fucked-up life – she has insisted on driving. “Quit it.”

Stiles looks at her. “What?”

“Quit bouncing,” she hisses and slaps his left leg.

He squirms in his seat, forces himself to still. “Sorry.”

“What’s going on with you?” She asks brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The bandage around her neck is gone and the wounds on her throat are hardly visible, but there’s still the burn of anger in the pit of his stomach whenever he sees them. “And don’t nothing me.” There’s a clear warning in her tone.

He looks at the passing houses and leans his head against the window. “It’s Theo,” he whispers tapping his index finger against the glass.

Lydia’s head perks up. “What about him?”

“For starters, he isn’t here.” He’s gone after Stiles told him to piss off. The guy hasn’t even considered leaving the town upon almost being dragged into eternal Hell by his sister or Scott demanding his immediate departure. “And do I have to remind you about Gabe?” She purses her lips slowing the car as Stiles slouches in his seat. Funny, how he was beaten up shortly after their fight. Funny, how Theo is missing. Funny, how Gabe refuses to tell what happened and gets this haunted look on his face whenever someone asks.

She sets the turn signal, checks the mirrors.

_Tickticktick._

“You think Theo beat him up?”

“Someone did.”

“Ask him.” Lydia makes that sound very easy.

Stiles chews on his bottom lip, leans forward and tugs on his jeans. Stupid Theo. Stupid Theo and his stupid behaviour. “What if that’s all just a trick?”

“A trick?” The car creeps over the parking lot.

_Tickticktick._

The sound grates on his nerves. “Yeah.” Stiles bounces his leg again, scrutinising her when she pulls the car into a free space. “What if he _wants_ me to get in contact again only to have a reason to come back?”

Lydia turns the ignition off, kills every sound and sighs. Picking at the steering wheel with her thumbnail, she squints at him for a couple of seconds. Lips pinched. Head tipped to the right. “What if he does exactly what you want him to do? What if he listens to you? I mean, you made Derek listen to reason.” That was different. Derek was different.

“Theo does what Theo wants.” Stiles stares out the window, watches Scott and Malia walk side by side into the building. Talking. He laughs. She looks around, searching for something.

Lydia reaches for her purse. “I suppose we should be relieved that Theo’s interests perfectly line up with yours then,” she says sounding nonchalant, relieved almost.

It grinds on his nerves as well. “Well, good. Because gone is exactly the way I want him.” Stiles grabs his backpack, flees the car. His fingers shake when he slams the door shut. A heavy weight settles on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Being pissed at Lydia isn't only unreasonable, it's also stupid. There’s literally no point to it. But he can’t help the vile poison in his veins.

Another car door shuts. It bleeps, then the sound of heels on the asphalt. “I don’t understand why you stopped Kira.” Stiles doesn’t turn around when he says it.

Lydia grabs his hand, squeezes it so tightly her knuckles turn white. “Because he saved your life.”

“He almost ruined yours.” Stiles stops, stares at her. Why doesn’t she understand?

She takes his hand in both of hers, pulls him closer. “I’m a selfish person.” The admission curls a tight fist around his throat. They aren't so different. Both possess the uncanny determination to keep their loved ones alive, even if they are beyond saving, even if they have nothing but a baseball bat to wield.  “If one of my friends sends you towards a threat while my enemy is protecting you, then I’m willing to compromise.” Her nails dig almost painfully into the back of his hand. They don’t know if Scott has been aware of the threat Malia's mother spoke out against him. It’s possible, and Stiles hates himself for thinking it. There used to be a time during which would have gone to the stake for Scott. Things have changed with Deucalion back in the picture, with everything else that has happened between them. “I love you, Stiles. If it takes Theo so I can keep you, I’m willing to pay that price.”

“What if it takes Theo for me to lose you?” Stiles’ heart contorts almost painfully.

Lydia caresses his wrist. “I spared his life.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Not with Theo.” He scrunches up his nose and works his fingers through his hair. Frustration sings up his veins, chokes him, makes his eyes burn and his throat dry. He wants to scream and cry and break something. His every nerve is vibrating. He can’t handle another fight, another person turning away from him. “It feels like we’re about to have an argument. How do I make it stop?”

“Agree with me?” Lydia bats her lashes at him grinning, easing away most of the sudden fear.

Stiles snorts, but his voice trembles slightly when he says, “not in a million years.” And that’s it. Their emotions are out in the open, they both know how much they care about the other. No need to continue. No need for lengthy discussions. It’s nice but right now it doesn’t really bring them closer to a solution to their conundrum.

“Promise me to think about it.” Lydia links arms with him and waves at someone behind his back. “And promise me to stop keeping everyone else at an arm's length.” With a smile, she pokes him in the side, and they turn. Mason and Hayden are waiting for them at the entrance, both excited to have Lydia back at school.

Stiles’ eyes roam the parking lot. No black truck. He swallows, throat suddenly dry. His phone sits heavy in his pocket.

 

“Dad, we talked about bringing work home, didn’t we?” Stiles tosses his backpack onto a chair, then walks to the fridge. Just looking at the lunch today made him feel queasy, and he wasn't the only one. Even Liam, who’d eat literally everything you put in front of him, stared at the wet lump of what was supposed to be a burger. Theo would’ve probably eaten it, seeing how he inhaled those French toasts and potato puffs a few days ago. His stomach contorts. _Right_. He's still gone. A week has passed and no sign of him. Stiles even called Brett to check if he’s got any news, but the Ito pack hasn't heard from him either.

The hunger isn't so urgent anymore. It dimmed like a candle losing its wick. Frowning, he takes an energy drink out of the fridge, closes the door with his foot and grabs an apple from the fruit bowl.

 _Stupid Theo_.

His father taps his pen against the top of the file in front of him, frowning at the can in his hand. His consume has gone down by a lot, but they are too delicious to drink never again. “Natalie called.”  

Stiles bites into the apple with a half-hearted and almost indistinguishable, “really? What does she want?” Maybe a second shot at a date. Although he really has always seen Melissa and his dad find their happily ever after together, it’s not like he can’t picture these two together. He doubts his father would talk to him about potential future dates, tho, and his expression doesn't exactly speak of excitement.

Instead, his dad closes the file and leans back in his chair. “She mentioned behavioural issues.”

 _Oh_. That’s not good. “What kind of behavioural issues?”

The tip of the pen hits the wooden surface in a short, hard rhythm. Rhythm is good. It means his father isn’t angry with him. _Yet_. “Spacing out, using your phone in class, being cheeky to your teachers.” His father quirks a brow, and Stiles winces. “Displaying difficulty in group work.” That’s because everybody is a fricking moron. He’d rather tackle the workload by himself than risk a mediocre grade. He has the shot at attending some top tier colleges if he keeps his grades up. With the supernatural fucking up his life constantly, he really cannot put his GPA in the hands of others. But Stiles keeps that to himself, and his father sighs, “she thinks- we think you should talk to your school counsellor.”

Oh, _hell no_. “I don’t exactly have much faith in those after Morrell told me she’d kill me to maintain the balance.” Let alone the fact that she’s been Deucalion’s emissary. “And it’s not like I can talk to them about everything.” The seconds he starts with werewolves, they’ll send his ass to Eichen House.

“You can talk to me.”

“I know-" Stiles squirms in his chair. There’s a lot to unpack and even more to get off his chest. A lot of it is shit he’s not quite sure how to tell his father. Or anyone for that matter. “I know,” he repeats propping his chin on his energy drink.

His dad smooths the corner of the file in front of him. “We haven’t done that in a while. Talking.” Not after the initial conversation at the morgue, not after Donovan’s death. It was so easy then to admit everything out loud, to say that he’d rather wanted him dead than put anyone at risk, to hear that it was perfectly normal, that it doesn’t make him a bad person – especially after hearing the opposite for so long, for hearing _we don’t kill people._

Stiles swallows the piece of apple, winces as an edge digs into his throat. He coughs slightly and straightens. “Can I ask you something?”

His father nods. “Everything.”

“If someone asks somebody for help who ends up manipulating someone else into killing others-” He frowns, rolls his shoulders while pressing the tips of his fingers against the apple. “Who’s responsible for the deaths?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking it, doesn’t know what it’ll change. Theo’s killed before. He’s hurt Lydia before Deucalion was even in the picture. What would it matter, if, by any chance, he’s not fully at fault for killing Tracy and Josh? _Promise me to think about it_. Would that be enough to convince him to ask Theo to come back?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

His dad rolls the pen between his thumb and index finger. “That depends.”

Stiles perks up. “On?”

“Did the person asking for help plan on killing the victims?” Unlikely. But who knows what the hell was going on in Scott’s head at the time? “Did they know the aide planned to kill the victims?” Very likely. Deucalion has orchestrated more than enough murders without being directly involved. He doubts Boyd and Erica were his first; Tracy and Josh may not be the last. “And, most importantly, can you prove the one killing has been manipulated?” That, at least, he can answer with a clear resonating ‘ _nope’_.

Groaning, he sinks deeper into his chair, listlessly poking the apple.

“Kiddo, what is this really about?”

Stiles pulls his shoulders up. “I don’t know how to fix this.” He doesn’t know how to fix Scott and him, the pack, _himself_. Everything around him is slowly falling apart, slipping through his fingers. He can’t stop it, hold it, grab it. Every single time it seems like he has it, he blinks and it’s gone, buried underneath a thousand other things he needs to work through. Starting with himself and ending with who knows what’s on the bottom of that list.

His father crosses his arms on top of his file, a small smile on his lips. “You can’t fix whatever _this_ is all by yourself.” But if he doesn’t do it, who will? Corey who still flinches every time someone raises a hand or touches his neck? Hayden who had to hear someone she barely knew signing her death certificate? Who has been used as bait? Who struggles to trust those she should trust the most? Or maybe Mason who suffers the ramifications of a possession? Who still has nightmares? Who can’t stay in the dark? Who’s eradicated the colour blue from his life because he remembers those eyes staring back at him? Or Liam who has been betrayed and lied to after trusting his alpha blindly? Who saw a promise made to him torn to shreds? Who still turns his head around to look for Mason? Who always calls his best friend first thing in the morning?

It has to be him.

It _has_ to.

“I saw your college plans,” his father says when Stiles doesn’t reply. “All of your friends, close together within a certain distance from each other.” He squeezes his eyes shut when ache echoes up his spine, through his body, spreads everywhere and forces into his throat all at once. His father puts his hand on top of his. It’s warm, secure and Stiles grabs it, suddenly terrified. “If you steer right and the car goes left, no amount of duct tape will keep it together.”

He's afraid to open his eyes. Afraid to face a reality he has ignored for so long. “How can I fix this?”

His father sighs. “You can’t lift that car alone.” He hates the metaphor but hearing names will make it even more real. “The weight will crush you.” Not if he’s Theo. Then he could lift that car. Then he could do everything by himself. His dad squeezes his hand, and Stiles opens his eyes, blinks away the liquid threatening to roll down his cheeks. “Either the car cooperates, or you will have to look for another one.”

Stiles wipes at his eyes with his sleeve.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, no teenager wants to hear it, but people grow up and sometimes, they grow apart.”

His chest constricts and a sob gets stuck in his throat. He’s right, Stiles doesn’t want to hear it but that doesn’t make these words any less true.

 

When he speaks about instincts, it usually applies to looking at people or a situation in general, assessing it and coming to a conclusion. Other times, it’s a sense of dread, the feeling of something terrible about to happen. It usually never leads him somewhere. He’s not Lydia. There has never been a banshee in his family tree – he checked, just in case. You never know with these convoluted supernatural rules. Tonight, he woke up thinking about a lake in the preserve. He can’t remember if he’s dreamt about it, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t go back to sleep. His curiosity forced him to move, so he grabbed his shoes, keys and drove into the preserve at ass o’clock in the morning.

His father won’t be happy about that. Actually, his father is going to kill him, Stiles concludes as he collapses into the grass by the lake an hour later trying his best to get his breathing and heart under control. There’s a throbbing pain in his left leg. He also can’t feel his body because of the cold. _Fuck_. There are probably already a thousand ants crawling all over him exchanging dinner recipes.

Theo next to him coughs up water for a few seconds, his entire body trembling violently. Even if he wanted to, Stiles couldn’t conjure up the energy to pat his back. He needs at least an hour to reenergise. Eventually, Theo drops onto his belly as well, facing him. His lips are parted, eyes mostly closed. The usually neatly styled her clings to his forehead and temples, wet and messy, and his soaked clothes leave nothing to the imagination. That body should be illegal, let alone that unfairly handsome face with that perfectly kissable mouth and those straight white teeth.

Okay, the fuck did that thought come from? Then again, it was bound to haunt him again eventually, right? Something had happened. He had _let_ something happen because he could’ve pushed him away yet didn’t. Like a fucking idiot, he didn't. He sat in his car – space too cramped, air too hot, chest too tight – and let it happen. The warm press of a mouth against his. The soft hand at the nape of his neck. The gentle killer in his personal space. He didn’t reciprocate, and he didn’t push him away, and up until today, Stiles can’t tell what’s worse. _The latter. The latter is worse_. That’s what his head keeps reminding him of, but his body often disapproves of this conclusion; especially when he closes his eyes. Alone. Hidden underneath covers and the darkness of the night.

Stiles hadn't told Malia. He pulled away instead. Hoped she wouldn’t notice when he pressed himself against the wall. Hoped she wouldn’t notice how he fled her touches, her cuddles, her attention. He saw her face fall whenever he averted his eyes, whenever he looked the other way, whenever he felt like the truth has finally caught up to him. The relationship was a farce, has been from the very beginning. Malia was just _there_ , and Scott sounded so enthusiastic, even when she scratched up his back, even when she did things that never seemed right. They were never a real couple. Sure, they kissed and hung out. Sure, he cared about her. But he was living in blissful ignorance, and she used him for stability.

He should’ve noticed, should’ve trusted his instincts further. God, how bad he had felt when Heather kissed him out of nowhere. How hard he had to _talk_ himself into it because he felt like he would betray Lydia; a girl he’s never been romantically involved with. But _that's_ who he is. Loyal beyond stupidity. He should've recoiled from Theo’s touch, from his lips. Malia shouldn’t have been an afterthought, she should’ve been his first priority. He shouldn’t have led her on like this. But his instincts were muffled by chaos and outside influences and _she needs to learn._ Yes, she did need to learn. Still does. And he should’ve put his foot down, should’ve broken up with her because the relationship was _wrong._ Straight up.

Stiles shakes his head, shakes the thoughts away and finds Theo’s eyes. “God, I hate you.” It’s the only thing he is currently a hundred percent sure of, and it needs to be said before his weird thoughts drown his common sense. Moving would also be great, but his body flips him the bird every single time he even considers it.

Theo laughs breathlessly, a sound messing with Stiles' adrenaline-filled brain in all the wrong ways. “You just saved my life.” And with that ruined the one in a thousand chance of ridding himself of Theo without getting his hands dirty.

He is such a loser.

“Finding someone else to hate the way I hate you is far too much effort.”

Theo opens his eyes a bit further, raises his brows. How the hell he manages to carry the vibe of post-orgasmic bliss after he’s almost drowned is beyond him. “And saving me from that Kol'Ksu isn't?”

“That's a bad habit.” He watches as Theo pushes himself to his knees. “I already regret it.” His moral compass is a mess. He desperately needs to put some work into that thing.

“Sure, Stiles.” Theo’s voice drowns in sarcasm. He smirks his trademark smirk, just a little on the condescending side, and Stiles wishes he would lean down so he could smack it off his stupidly enticing mouth. _Just because_. This asshole is seriously getting on his nerves acting as if Stiles hasn’t just thrown himself into the lake _all by his lonesome_ to drag his sorry ass out. What the fuck? “Is it comfortable?” Theo adds eventually, and Stiles frowns at the outstretched hand. “Or do you want to get up and out of your clothes?”

The train wreck called his brain deliberately misunderstands the words. It’s a backstabbing bastard and it _knows that_. Fucking fantastic. Stiles keeps his head down and checks his ankle instead. If he ignores the heat in his cheeks, it will surely go away in a second. Or two. Hopefully soon enough. Hopefully before Theo notices it. “Just try to be less stupid next time.”

Theo’s chuckle haunts him.

“I mean it.” Stiles clenches his teeth and pulls his wet sweatpants up. “I won’t save you again.” From what he can see in the moonlight, it doesn’t seem to be too bad. He’s scratched up all right. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed with clean water, disinfectant and a band-aid. Still stings like a bitch, and his sweatpants look as if he has a hole in his ankle. Water, fabric, and blood, never a good combination.

“ _Shit,_ you’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.” It really isn’t. It’ll be a mean scratch. He’s not going to lose his foot. “Think I caught my foot on some branches or something. Wouldn’t have happened if you'd drowned during the day.”

Theo pulls his wet shirt over his head. “I was hunting that thing. What’s your excuse?” That's a good question. It’s also a fair question. What _is_ he doing here? Why is he here? There’s no logical reason for him to think, ‘it's half past four in the morning, I can’t sleep. Let’s go to this specific lake in the middle of nowhere'. There hasn't been a sense of urgency. _Nothing_. The lake simply pinged in his head like a fucking GPS signal, and he needed to know what this was all about.

Now he’s here. Hurt, again. Wet to the bone. Freezing. Faced with a half-naked Theo. This night keeps getting better and better. He really can’t wait to tell Lydia. She’ll have a field day with this one. Stiles rubs some water from his forehead with his equally wet arm. “I just... went for a walk?”

Theo wrings his t-shirt for the third time. “Are you asking _me_?”

“Instead of being nit-picky, how about you thank some Devine interference for saving your sorry ass.” Stiles runs a hand over his face. Hunting a rare, aquatic creature at night in the preserve, miles and miles away from civilisation. He huffs out a breath. “Stupidity should be a crime, seriously,” he mutters rubbing his arms for friction.

Theo slaps him with his t-shirt playfully, then crouches down next to him and rips the fabric in two. “I heard that,” he tells him with a smirk audible in his voice.

“You were supposed to.” Stiles watches as Theo curls a hand around his calf and lifts his leg up. “What are you doing?”

“Bandaging it.”

“I said it’s not bad.”

Theo sighs as if Stiles is some petulant child refusing to accept that one plus one equals two not eleven. “It might be if dirt gets inside.” _Oh for the love of-_ He narrows his eyes, trying not to feel patronized by a stupid, supernatural creature with superhuman healing abilities. “This okay?” Theo asks when he tightens the makeshift bandage.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Great.” Theo grabs him by the upper arms and pulls him to his feet rather unceremoniously. He starts to feel more like a ragdoll than an actual person who has just saved his life. “Come on, I’ll carry you.”

Stiles steps away. “I can walk, thank you very much.” Which is also true. He doesn’t even attempt to play this down or anything.

Theo sighs again. “I’m faster.”

“I’m _not_ going to be carried-“

“I used to give you a piggyback ride all the time.”

Stiles flushes at the memory, and he prays to whoever or whatever will listen that the lightning is bad enough Theo won’t pick up on that – and that he’s not the only one who can’t smell anything but dead fish. Because, _fucking hell,_ that stench is really offending his poor nose. “I was _six_ and you were taller than me.” If he can’t make a crack on his strength, he’ll at least make one on his height. Although it’s not like Stiles is that much taller.

Theo squints at him. “If I carry you, we’ll be at my car in five.”

Great. The guy hits him with the only weapon Stiles can’t fathom to win against. _Logic_. Pulling a face, he stomps over to Theo who turns his back towards him with a grin. “If you think about telling anyone about this,” Stiles warns hopping on his back trying his hardest to ignore the warm hands underneath his thighs and too close to his ass, “remember I’m one of the few people in the world who can kill you and leave zero evidence behind.”

Theo chuckles, “I’ll keep that in mind.”


	2. un peu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, I can't thank all of you enough for all your lovely responses! I'm so happy you like the story! <3 Seriously, it means the world to me! <3
> 
> On another note, I lied. To you. To myself. I won't finish this in two but three chapters. Am I surprised? Not really.

“You’re grounded.”

Stiles stares at his father. Not only shouldn't he be home until six-thirty, but there’s also no apparent reason as to why grounding him was necessary either. He’s dry, his bloody sweatpants are in his hamper, and Theo did not follow him into the house like he intended to, obviously thinking Stiles is too stupid to clean scratches. So, no. There’s nothing incriminating- his thoughts screech to a sudden halt and his eyes flick towards the far corner of his room. “You said you’d turn them off.”

His father’s lips curl into a tight line. “Good thing I haven't.”

“You lied to me.” Stiles can’t believe his father still has the security cameras installed in his room. He hasn’t bothered to check because he trusted him, he _trusted_ his father when he told him he’d get rid of them. Why wouldn’t he? There was no reason to lie about these cameras. Stiles understood the reasoning behind them. He almost froze to death in his attempt to kill the nogitsune. But those times have passed. He hasn't had problems with sleepwalking in forever, didn't have any since the nogitsune was gone.

“You are grounded,” his father repeats crossing his arms.

Pure, painful, white-hot anger claws at his throat. “You _can’t_ ground me.” Stiles works his jaw, teeth grinding, and he’s seconds away from stomping his feet.

“A temper tantrum isn't going to get you out of this.” The calm voice doesn’t help Stiles get less angry. In fact, it works in the opposite direction. He _hates_ how in control his father can be over his anger when he has to. “You are seventeen and as long as you live under my roof, you follow my rules. No sneaking out of the house in the middle of the-"

“That’s bullshit,” Stiles accuses, completely out of his element. Despite all the shit he has done, he’s never been grounded. There have never been any punishments. At first, his father excused his misbehaviour with Stiles’ mother’s death, then his own alcoholism, then the ADHD. You’d think after slipping away to go to Mexico, leaving the house in the middle of the night means nothing. He’ll turn eighteen in four and a half months. It’s a bit late for educational measures now. After all, how’s the saying? A tree must be bent while it is young. 

But his father gives him a stern look, and Stiles snaps his mouth shut. “If you have a good reason for sneaking out without your phone or a call, I’ll be willing to change the punishment as I see fit.”

Stiles bristles, opens his mouth for a protest only to come up empty. All his anger vaporises because of his very own stupidity. He forgot his phone, _really_? It couldn’t have saved him from the cameras, but at least his father would’ve known where he went. Because that’s the problem here. Stiles vanishing into the night like he’s done when he was possessed. “I was-" _somehow seeing a place in my head where Theo happened to be in a losing fight with the Kol'Ksu._ “I was out for a walk. I couldn’t sleep, so I just-.” He waves his hand around dismissively. Somehow, he doubts writing Theo into the equation is going to end well at all.

“A walk.”

Stiles nods. Part of him wants to cut the crap and tell his father the truth, but he can’t do that. Somehow, the words won’t slip past his lips; too terrified of telling him that something may be wrong with him, that he didn’t get out of those supernatural shenanigans without being affected himself. And Theo means trouble. Theo _always_ means trouble. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think-“

His father draws his eyebrows together. “You’re grounded for the next week.”

“A week?” But the set jaw tells him there’s no further discussion to be had.

“And you’ll take your Adderall.”

Stiles throws his hands in the air. “That’s not going to help me _sleep_ , Dad!” Sure, his energy drinks have already been a terrible solution, but Adderall tends to be way, _way_ worse than regular caffeine. His sleeping schedule is messed up as it is, he doesn’t need drugs to make it worse – and does he have to start with the mood changes? The anxiety? The loss of appetite? He’s finally managed to put on weight, so his grandmother could stop complaining about him being too skinny. Not that she was wrong. He used to be underweight while taking Adderall regularly. Despite the stress and fucked up bullshit they all went through, he managed to keep his diet straight. Not just for him but also for the sake of his father’s health. Now he wants to put him back on that shit? _Seriously_?

“One when you wake up, then every six hours. You know the drill.”

He curls his hands into tight fists, feels his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He breathes in, out, tries to uncurl his fingers. On the third attempt, he manages to relax again. “What about the cameras?”

“They stay on at night.”

“Dad!”

His father points a finger at him. “You brought this on yourself. I thought you were more responsible than sneaking out of the house all by yourself. _You_ know better than everybody else what’s hiding in the shadows.”

Stiles stares at him. His mouth opens but no word comes, the truth won’t come. He can’t spit it at his father’s feet. _I saved a life._ Even if it’s Theo’s. But he can’t. He won’t. Because he would have to tell the rest too. So, he grinds his teeth and takes the punishment instead; resentful of course. He's not about to give his father any ideas. This punishment is an exception, and he’ll regret to have ever grounded him by the third day.

 

With a groan, Stiles closes his laptop and rolls onto his side. He's just survived being stuck at home because of his shoulder, now he has to stay home _again_ because his father either doesn’t like him to act like an a-typical teenager or knows he lied through his teeth. Neither option is particularly alluring. _Grounded_. He still can’t believe it. Grounded over sneaking out in the middle of the night of all things. On top of that, he’s bored and tired and pissed off – at his father for grounding him, at Theo for getting him into trouble again, at Scott for being more bothered by Stiles’ refusal to become an emotional punching bag for Malia instead of working on their very own issues, at himself for being terrified of the honest answer. _I don’t know why I believed him_. Like that matters, like Stiles cares he believed Theo of all people when in reality it matters that Scott believed Stiles is capable of bashing someone’s head in with a wrench, that he believed it so much he flinched away from him.

 _Fuck this._ Fuck everything. His bedroom, his father, the fucking Adderall, Scott, Malia, but most of all, fuck Theo Raeken for constantly messing up his life. _God_. He needs to get out of this room, this house. He has to move. To do something. Anything really. Or he’s going to lose his mind.

Stiles grabs his phone from the nightstand, deliberately hitting the pill bottle which goes flying somewhere underneath his bed and pulls up his father’s contact.

 _I’ll be in the garden if that’s all right with you_ _《_

He throws a withering glare towards his door. While living with a member of the police force comes with its ups and downs, Stiles has never quite expected his dad would turn their house into a super-max. Apparently, he underestimated the paranoia of a man who lost his wife. And son. For a while at least.

His phone vibrates.

 _》_ _Don’t push it._

Oh, hour thirty and he’s already pushing it. That’s amazing. The sooner his father’s annoyed with him, the faster he can get out of this bullshit. He just has to be careful not to fuck it up. After all, having a serious fight with his dad is the last thing he wants.

Stiles rolls off the bed. After a very long conversation about his right for privacy, his father agreed to move the camera out of his room _and_ turn them off over the day. The alerts still work, tho, hence why he texted him before venturing into the backyard. Upon opening the door, his father will get a notification on his phone. Something like that will pop up even if he opens a window. Fucking stupid. _Really_ fucking stupid.

When he bounces down the stairs, he shoots a glare at the camera mounted in the corner. It’s barely visible, but since he knows it’s there, it’ll bug the hell out of him whenever he’s in the hallway. Turned on or off doesn’t make a difference at this point. They exist, and it pisses him off.

Slamming the door shut behind him, he walks straight to the far end of their backyard where the monkey bars still remain from his early childhood. The construction is a bit bigger since it's partially self-made with a climbing wall and a platform to sit on. His mom had insisted on building it during her long fight against putting Stiles on ADHD medication. Dancing, horse riding, Little League – everything to avoid Adderall. She’d always said it’s enough if one of them had to take the funny pills. When Scott had started to come over regularly, his father attached a swing set onto the monkey bars’ other side. Because of little asthmatic Scott’s inability to keep up with Stiles, changes had to be made.

Scott, who he’d spent every day of his life with when they were younger. Now, they don’t even look at each other in the hallways of their school.

Pushing the memory to the back of his mind, Stiles grabs onto one of the monkey bars. He’ll knock his head on the lowest one if he isn't paying attention, but the highest is just within reach. Holding on tight, he pulls himself up. When he was younger, he could never do it. Today he struggles because of the damage in his shoulder. He’ll be fine, still, Melissa prepared him that it might take a while until it’s properly healed.

The bars are long and with enough distance between each other that he fits through them. His shoulder shows its unhappiness about the treatment with a dull ache. Stiles ignores it and clambers onto the platform.

Laughing to himself, he falls onto his back. He's spent an awful lot of time during his summer break on top of this thing. Sometimes with his friends, sometimes alone, sometimes smoking a joint. Fuck, that would be nice right now. It would certainly help make him less affected by boredom, mixing it with Adderall has also a nice effect. It seems like forever ago that he’s smoked weed, although he did it not too long ago hoping to relax enough to finally have sex with Malia when it became evident that she didn't want to wait any longer. He thought that when he'd gotten into the mood once, it would work without it. Just to get over that first hurdle, you know? Didn’t happen the way he hoped. They made out a lot, and Stiles can’t really say he never enjoyed it. His body responded accordingly. He could’ve had all the sex in the world if Malia had called the shots. But every single time, his head noped out of the equation, and there was nothing he could do about it. _Not right. Not right. Not right_. It was like a fucking concert in his head – and then, he remembered the scratches, the bites, the little marks she left on his body unsolicited. That’s when he shut down, that’s when he couldn’t do it any longer.

But he’d rather not think about that. Stiles clicks his tongue and pulls his phone out.

Still bored.

 _Great_.

 

He’s texting with Lydia and Brett, even Mason and Liam in a desperate attempt to rid himself of his boredom. Research happens to. About anything and everything. Stiles doesn’t count how often he changes position. He sits, lies on his back, on his stomach, dangles his legs while on the monkey bars, swings back and forth. When he hangs upside down from the highest bar, feet hooked underneath the one next to it, watching a terribly staged YouTube video of two guys apparently contacting demons via Ouija board, Stiles sees a pair of legs approach. Nice legs packaged in dark blue jeans. The white suspenders are a dead giveaway, though, and he flicks his eyes down to look up.

Theo stops in front of him, hands pushed in the pockets of his leather jacket, an amused chuckle dancing on his features. “Any particular reason for the blood rushing to your head?”

“Boredom.” Stiles locks his phone, frowns and raises himself up. His abs really hate him for it, so he puts his phone between his teeth and uses his hands for help. “Any particular reason you sneak onto my property?”

Snorting out a laugh, Theo jumps onto the platform. The whole construction shakes a little, and Stiles curls his fingers around the metal bars to keep his balance. “Boredom.”

“Funny,” he tells him pushing the phone into his hoodie.

Theo sits down cross-legged, seemingly making himself comfortable. “I wanna check how you are after yesterday's early morning walk ended inside the lake.”

Stiles jabs a finger in his direction. “You should be glad I was there and saved your ass.” He skids over the bar until he reaches the platform, then scrambles onto it as gracefully as he could with too long limbs and too little space. It may be sturdy, but it was built for scrawny little children with too much energy. “I’ve been grounded because of it.” Okay, technically he’s been grounded because of a walk. Still, Stiles doubts telling his dad he went out because his brain imitated Google Earth showing him that lake in the middle of miles and miles of preserve only to end up with Theo fucking Raeken will change anything about the sentencing.

Theo quirks a brow. “You’re grounded?”

“Yep.”

“Guess then I’m not allowed to be here.” Which, apparently, isn’t enough to make him move.

Stiles purses his lips, contemplating the answer. “Well, _technically_ being grounded means I’m not allowed to leave the house, so-“

“You are outside your house.” Theo gestures around the backyard. He grins, actually fucking grins. The skin around his eyes crinkles, and it’s really kind of cute; excepts it’s not. It isn’t cute. Theo and cute don’t go hand in hand. What the hell is he thinking?

He waves his phone around. “I asked for permission. Also, I have no idea how the rules about being grounded are. I’ve _never_ been grounded before.”

“Never?” The surprise in his voice makes Stiles blink. Is he really supposed to believe the Raeken’s prodigal son has more experience with normal childhood punishments than he has? What kind of madness is this?

Stiles drops his phone between them frowning slightly. “My father has survived more than one cases of flu and knows better than to imprison me at home.” He’s a nuisance. He knows it, and he’s fucking proud of it. “No idea what made him change his mind, tho.”

“If only you were eighteen already.”

“Okay, Mister, don’t pretend like you’re-“ Stiles stops mid-sentence, ignores Theo’s brows climbing with every passing second he doesn’t say anything and snatches his phone. “Dude,” he says staring at the date on his display, “it’s the 23rd of November.” Out of the corner of his eye, he notices how Theo shrinks in on himself. His grin suddenly appears fake as well. Stiles feels terrible. Despite everything, he really does feel shitty. Birthdays should be special. People who care about you should call you, tell you how much they love you, _be_ with you if possible.

Stiles scoots to the edge of the platform. “Wait here,” he tells him and hops down. Call it misplaced pity, but he doesn’t want Theo to have a lousy birthday. For what it’s worth, he’s always helped him, protected him, and he got rid of the Kol’Ksu even though he didn’t have to do it alone. He bounces up the stairs chewing on his bottom lip. Everyone seems to just ignore the past. He doubts they’d let bygones be bygones. He doubts he could do it. At least not forever. But maybe for a day.

Since he can’t whip up any presents or cake out of literally nowhere, Stiles is ready to share his secret stash of candy. He opens the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulls his bedding away and grabs the box. Then he kicks the drawer shut and hurries back down the stairs, through the backyard until he’s at the jungle gym.

“Catch!” He throws the box up to Theo, who has no trouble doing as he’s told, then uses the climbing wall to get back on top.

Theo shakes the box sceptically. “Candy?”

Stiles flops down next to him. “Polish candy and chocolate and shit. My grandmother sends them to me bi-monthly. She says we don’t have anything good over here. Guess she never tried Reese’s. _Anyway_ -“ Enough of his constantly worried grandmother who thinks he needs to eat more because he’s too scrawny and who constantly scrunches up her nose because he’s having an accent. ‘ _Your father should speak Polish with you like your mother used to do when you were a child._ ’ His father hasn’t grown up with the language himself. He speaks it because of his own grandfather and his wife, but he’s not quite as fluent as Stiles is. “Happy Birthday.”

Theo draws his eyebrows in.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Stiles drags the box onto his lap and flips it open. He fishes around for a few seconds. “I don’t have a candle or something to light up, so you gotta take what I give you.” He pulls out a bright orange chocolate bar. “Try this. They’re amazing.”

Theo looks at it as if he suspects poison. Which, granted, is understandable. But even Stiles wouldn’t be a total ass to someone on their birthday. After a moment, he takes the chocolate only to drop it in his lap. When Stiles opens his mouth for a complaint - he’ll eat a piece if that eases his goddamn mind - Theo pulls out a tiny transparent bag. “It’s not a candle,” he says, grin returning ever so slowly. “Guess we could light it up anyway.”

Stiles stares at him, blinks, shakes his head and wonders if he’s dreaming or something. “You brought a joint to the sheriff’s house?” Not that he wants to complain considering that he’s been thinking about it- his thoughts grind to a complete stop. Yeah, he thought about smoking weed like he thought about opening a can of whoop-ass on Gabe, like he thought about killing the Kol’Ksu, like he thought about that lake. Although he can’t be sure if he thought about the lake because of Theo being there, and they don’t know if the chimera beat Gabe’s sorry ass. Theo also heard Stiles _talk_ about wanting to kill the creature, and the weed could merely be a coincidence. Right? _Right_. Has to be.

He’ll just pretend it is. Back to ignoring a problem until it eventually loses interest and vanishes into the dead of night it is. Fucking hell, he’s too exhausted to deal with anything remotely problematic.

When he gestures for the joint and lighter, Theo grows hesitant. “Adderall and weed?”

For a second, Stiles wants to ask ‘ _why’d you bring it then_ ’ before he changes his mind so fast, he almost gets whiplash. “How do you know about the Adderall?”

The air around them changes, suddenly loaded with something Stiles can’t put his finger on. Theo straightens his back, tips his head just a little to the left, eyebrows coming together in a deep frown. “I can smell it.” His voice is almost dark and disapproving, and it’s hard to tell what’s the bother right now – Stiles’ willingness to mix drugs or that he’s taking Adderall _or_ that he called Theo out for knowing about it. This mood swing has him more irritated than his father grounding him. Of course, Theo isn’t _wrong_ , mixing drugs is never a smart thing. While Adderall pumps him up, weed relaxes him. At the end of the day, it’s more about being responsible and not getting fucked over by lowered inhibitions. Adderall and weed are the perfect combination for a clear head. For him, at least. The stories vary from person to person. The few times he smoked weed with guys from his calculus class, he’s been feeling fucking amazing. He really wants to feel fucking amazing again, and he is so going to.

Something still feels off about the answer although Theo looks him straight in the eye, although Theo doesn’t smirk, doesn’t move or fidget. He seems almost too genuine. Stiles juts his chin in the air. “Oh, really?” He notices his jaw tighten slightly, almost as if Theo’s grinding his teeth. “What does it smell like?”

“Wrong.” He says it like he wants to spit the word at his feet.

Stiles licks his lips. “I’ve done it before. I know my limits.”

Theo stares at him for a while, eyebrows drawn in, lips pressed into a thin line. He looks as if he’s about to call the thing off, as if he’s thought better of it, as if he regrets to have brought it up in the first place. Despite all that, he gives Stiles the joint and tosses him the lighter a second later. His movement is oddly robotic, and his aim way off causing the lighter almost to sail off the platform.

“Eat,” Stiles says nodding at the candy bar. “Won’t ruin your sculptured body, Mr. Supernatural Metabolism.” He smirks at Theo, then wraps his lips around the filter and flicks the lighter on. The fire almost burns his thumb because he watches Theo instead of what he’s doing. Only for a second, his eyes flick down to check that he won’t accidentally set the whole joint on fire. Theo’s gaze has dropped to his mouth when he looks back up, but he fumbles with the wrapping paper of the chocolate bar.

It doesn’t take long for the sweet and earthy aroma to be noticed. Good thing they’re outside. Good thing their neighbours haven’t been in their backyard since the end of October. Good thing his father won’t come home until tomorrow morning because he's pulling a double shift – probably to avoid his moody son. Good for him, even better for Stiles. When the smoke mingles in his lungs, he closes his eyes, tips his head back and enjoys the taste on his tongue for a moment. He pushes the smoke out, watches as it rises, then slowly disappears in the bright air.

Theo takes the joint from him, and Stiles fishes for some candy. That’s how it goes for a while, them smoking, eating, the silence only broken after the joint is finished. They lie on their backs, legs dangling over the edge. Theo starts talking about childhood memories. Hard to tell if it’s the weed that makes him reminiscent or something else. Stiles doesn’t really care. Up until the day Theo became weird, they had hung out a lot; before and after Little League, on playdates, at school, at the skatepark. Stiles was surprised and kind of disappointed when it stopped, now he guesses the Dread Doctors had a lot to do with it. Theo used to be his male Heather, minus the bubble baths and their parents being friends.

“First kiss,” Theo prompts and rolls onto his stomach skeptically nibbling on a piece of chocolate-covered jelly.

Stiles scrunches up his face. “Second grade. This girl came up to me, pecked me on the lips and ran away.”

Theo snorts out a laugh. “I remember that.” He’s really kind of pretty like that, with his bright blue eyes and great smile and shit. No. No not kind of. He totally is pretty. “First _actual_ kiss.”

“Oh.” Stiles tousles his hair. “With 16. Do you remember Heather?” It’s a long shot, but Theo’s has been visiting twice when she and her parents were around. He nods, and Stiles does too. “Happened on her 17th birthday. She didn’t wanna be a virgin any longer. I went through the door and she was, like, all over me.” His stomach sinks. _And then I went to get a condom and she was gone. Dead. Chosen by the Darach._ Up to this day, he doesn’t understand _why her_? There must’ve been so many other virgins around. Why _his_ friend?

Theo’s jaw tightens for a second, grin looking off-kilter, then he chuckles and sits up. “Did you do it?” There’s an edge to his voice. He doesn’t look at him either, just slides off the platform.

Stiles sits up as well. “What?"

Theo crouches down, plucks a daisy. It’s such an arbitrary move, totally odd. Has the weed affected him too? Maybe. He’s not sure weed can do that. Unless he’s spiked it. Has he spiked it? “Sex, Stiles,” Theo says turning around with a lazy smirk. “Did you fuck the birthday girl?” The way the words roll off his tongue messes with his brain. Only Theo would manage to sound this sinful while asking such a trivial question.

“No,” Stiles replies after a few seconds, or a minute – his sense of time is a bit hazy – and hops off the platform. His landing can only be described as dreadful. He stumbles, needs a moment to get his feet underneath him and chuckles. “What’s the plan with that?” Quirking his brows, Stiles points at the daisy before flopping onto the left swing.

Theo snorts out another laugh and sits down on the other one, then he picks a petal off the flower with a grin. “They love me-” he repeats the gesture, rocking back and forth on the swing- “they love me not.” His face shifts from mock happiness to the fakest sadness he has ever seen in his life, depending on his words. It’s almost hilarious, and it’s so fucking Theo, _the real_ Theo, that Stiles’ heart aches with a sudden longing for the past, for a second chance, for a change. He remembers how they sat on top of the biggest half-pipe of their town's small skatepark, eight years young, snapbacks backwards on their heads. His has been a bit too large but he wore it because Theo wore one and Theo was _cool,_ you know? The skater boy girls giggled over, gave elementary style love letters to. The skater boy guys crowded around. But Theo chose him above everybody else. So, they sat there, on top of that halfpipe, feeling like they’re on top of the world with their skateboards next to them, and they talked shit – as much as eight-year-olds could talk shit at least. They mocked everything, other people’s skating skills, stuff their teachers told them, the weird gaffer smelling like his eighteen cats.

And sometimes, Theo would say something causing Stiles to pipe in with unnecessary information because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, because he wanted to show that he’s not just that boy with ADHD who can’t sit still, who was constantly scolded by teachers for his inattention, who was always ignored when he said ‘ _I heard you_ ’ or ‘ _I’ve already finished_ ’. Theo listened. He always listened. He even listened when Scott didn’t.

Stiles lets out a breath. “It’s a game of French origin, did you know that?”

Theo picks another petal, gaze darting to Stiles. “I dropped French sophomore year.”

“Reasonable.” Beautiful language, phonetically a bitch to learn. Stiles tried anyway. With mediocre success. “Well, the English were a bit lacklustre with their variation of the game.” He leans down and plucks a daisy himself, thinking that his dad probably needs to mow the lawn some time soon. “The original has five options.” He points at the daisy, then looks back to Theo, who regards him with genuine curiosity, and picks a petal. “Il ou elle m’aime un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, _à la folie_ , pas du tout.” Chuckling quietly while talking, he picks a petal for each phrase and spins the daisy between his thumb and index finger.

“So, they lowered the percentage of a negative answer.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “And on the right-hand side, you see a teenage boy suffering from a science-heavy upbringing.”

Theo flips him the bird. “What’s à la folie?”

“Literally? To madness.” Stiles shrugs. “We’d say ‘like crazy’, I guess.”

“Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, though, does it?” Theo lets out a low, humourless chuckle, and Stiles shakes his head. No, not at all. Not even a little, to be fair. But he doesn’t say it, because mostly it seems as if Theo’s deep in his head while picking the petals off one by one. When there’s nothing left, he drops the flower. “I love you like crazy.” Theo tries the words, slowly, one by one they drag over his tongue, past his teeth and lips; one by one they fall to the floor. For some reason, Stiles’ chest constricts when Theo locks eyes with him. “I love you until it drives me insane.”

Stiles swallows. “Sounds scary.”

“Yeah,” Theo agrees quietly. “Scary.”

 

“Did you ask him about Gabe?”

Stiles wraps his hands around his stomach and frowns. He thought about asking Theo, and yet he completely forgot about it after their weird conversation on the swings, although everything returned to normal. Well, as normal as the day could’ve turned out. They celebrated Theo’s birthday in their very own weird way. Like, seriously. Smoking weed with Theo, devouring a box of Polish candy which would’ve lasted him two more months _at least_ and then collapsing onto his bed in uncontrolled laughing fits to watch a movie. It was strangely normal. Something he could’ve seen them do if Theo’s never left to begin with. They used to be friends. Not _Scott and Stiles_ but... well, look where that has gotten him.

“I interpret your silence as a no,” Lydia says running her fingers in a slow circle on the desk she sits on.

“It was his birthday.” Stiles knows it’s a weak defence, but it’s a defence either way. He was also high which he isn’t quite sure how to tell them. Or if he should tell them even. Smoking pot with the guy who’s killed people, who actively tried to ruin their lives, who Stiles made a point of not trusting? Doesn’t exactly make him sound reliable, does it? Plus, if Theo scrunched up his nose about mixing Adderall and weed, Stiles really doesn’t want to know how his friends take that.

Liam rocks back and forth on his feet. “This is so weird.”

“It’s honestly not that weird,” Hayden says from the teacher’s desk. “Theo’s always been infatuated with him. He made it a rule not to harm Stiles. You can’t even begin to imagine how Tracy suffered after paralyzing you.” As much as Parrish being impaled by a pipe after throwing a burning Corey at Stiles' face? Did Theo also chastise himself after knocking him out on the stairs?

At this point, there isn’t much that’ll surprise him.

Corey picks at the strap of his watch absentmindedly. “She always suffered the most because of her opinion of Stiles.” He sounds reminiscent, like a bizarre memory that has been twisted around and around until it evokes the wrong emotion. But maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s another memory he doesn’t want to speak about which causes this reaction. Stiles doesn’t know Corey enough to judge him, but he would like to say that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to worry about feeling good about something which at first glance seems completely wrong.  

Mason inclines his head, shifts his body towards Corey. For a moment, it seems as if he wants to put his hand on his neck, a touch to ground, then thinks better of it when his boyfriend suddenly shrinks in on himself. “Then why was she so, I don’t know, submissive to him?” Mason asks, hand falling onto Corey’s thigh instead. That’s a very good question. Tracy has done _everything_ Theo wanted her to do. No question asked, even knowing nothing would ever come out of it. At least, if Hayden and Corey are telling the truth. Then again, neither looks much like they’d blow things out of proportion.

“We all owe him our lives.” Hayden crosses then uncrosses her arms and looks out the window. The conflict is clear – if Theo did all these awful things, if Theo killed members of her pack, can she be grateful? Is she allowed to have emotions other than hate towards him? It’s complicated and reasonable, and Stiles understands it. That’s why the black-and-white mentality doesn’t work. It’s impossible to determine if a person is objectively worse than another one. Sure. Theo has done some fucked up shit. He killed people for his own benefit, he also resurrected those who he considered would make him the most powerful. But Stiles doesn’t know how he treated his pack. They say Tracy suffered because of her attitude. What about them? What about Josh until Deucalion convinced Theo to steal his power and take his life?

Truth be told, Stiles can’t say Theo doesn’t have a good side, that he doesn’t have an ounce of humanity in him. If he only judged by how he behaved when they were alone together, then what could he say about him? He never hurt him – aside from that one time but Stiles punched him in the face first – he never lied to him, made sure he was safe, protected, made sure he didn’t feel like an ass after killing Donovan, risked his freedom to tell his father that Stiles hasn’t killed anybody, that it was him because he was scared that Donovan wouldn’t only kill Theo but Stiles as well. He watched them, assessed their behaviours, weaknesses, strengths and made sure to use those against them.

It’s easy to blame someone else for their shortcomings. It’s easy to say, ‘ _I don’t know why I believed him_ ’, instead of saying ‘ _I shouldn’t have doubted you, that’s on me, but here’s why I did it_ ’.

Theo isn’t black, and Scott isn’t white and everyone who says otherwise won’t recognise reality when it hit them in the face. All of them in this room, all of them involved with the supernatural, they did things they aren’t proud of, will never be proud of. The only difference is that some of them are willing to state their shortcomings and say, ‘ _I’m sorry I did that_ ’, ‘ _I’m sorry I hurt you_ ’, ‘ _I’m sorry I fucked up_ ’. They are no saints. They can talk this out. They can forgive each other. For fuck's sake, Stiles hasn’t even been angry with Liam for not believing him any longer, and just because he was the last man standing in his propaganda against Theo, doesn’t mean he would judge them if both Corey and Hayden admitted that they do not hate him.  

Corey clears his throat, fingers intertwining with Mason’s. “Guess she was just really in love with him.” Plausible. People tend to do some weird shit if they’re in love, either platonic or romantic. Some are too afraid to lose that _one_ person, they bend over backwards to fit a mould not made for them. Stiles knows the feeling, and he doesn’t seem to be the only one; how far they are willing to go is proven even in the little things. He’s not seen Lydia wearing her favourite dark blue dress since she’s back at school. None of them wear anything blue. It’s like the colour has been completely eradicated from their lives. They also make sure Liam can always stand next to his best friend or is at least able to see him. They move slowly around Corey, are mindful of their hands never raising above his collarbones. They make sure Hayden has always the chance to accept or decline an offer, give her the time to think about it. For some it may be ridiculous, for them it’s a start to become better.

Even if Stiles is still pissed about it, the same goes for his father. Of course, he was going to lose his shit the second he found out he has left their home without informing anyone where he went. He knew that when he collapsed onto the lakeside. What kind of trauma must that have awoken in his dad when his phone went off with an intruder signal, when he checked the cameras and couldn’t find Stiles anywhere in the house? And what was his reaction? Being a pissed off, petulant child demanding to be treated like an adult. It took him two and a half days to realise that, to understand that his father reacted the way he did because he was terrified.

Stiles runs a hand over his face, sighs. Everything feels too much at the moment. He can’t focus on everything all at once, but he can’t focus on just a single thing either. His stupid Adderall gives him stomach pain and a headache instead of helping him concentrate. _God_ , he wants to curl up in his bed and suffer in silence. But he can’t, and he won’t. It’ll lessen eventually. It always does.

He leans forward, bounces his leg. “Can someone explain to me why I’m spending my lunch period in an empty classroom talking about Tracy’s obsession with Theo?” He frowns, hates how bitter he sounds.

Lydia taps a nail against the table top, then lets out a long breath. “We actually wanted to talk to you about _Theo.”_ She briefly glances at him, smiles, then turns back to Liam and folds her hands in her lap.

Stiles squints at her. “What did he do?”

“Nothing... that we know of,” Liam says pulling his shoulders up when Stiles looks at him. “It’s more about...” He grimaces, glances at Hayden for help who shakes her head and eyes Corey, but their friend continues to stare at the ground. “Well,” Liam says eventually, not meeting Stiles’ eye, “you notice he's around.”

_No shit._

It’s not that he’s annoyed about the topic, he’s annoyed of their childish behaviour. What do they think he’ll do? Stiles winces internally. Maybe flip his shit. Or yell at them. Be pissed and angry and irritated. Like he usually is. Like he’s been since they defeated the beast. Stiles closes his eyes for a second, takes a breath and rubs small circles into the left side of his stomach. Adderall, _yay_. “Sure. I’ve noticed.” He forces himself to sound relaxed, nonchalant.

Hayden clears her throat. “We would like to offer him a second chance.”

“We wouldn’t be alive without him,” Corey adds immediately, finally looking up from the ground. His expression makes him look like he doubts his own words. Which is understandable. Theo bringing them back from the dead was a selfish, calculated move. He hasn’t specifically chosen anyone because he was really beaten up about their deaths. He chose them because he could use them against Mason and Liam and with that against Scott. Considering everything from their position, Stiles gets it, because the bottom line remains the same: they are alive, and Theo is to thank for that.

Exchanging a quick glance with Corey, Hayden continues, “he wasn’t a good alpha. Frankly, he was an asshole. But he taught us to use our powers instead of suppressing them.”

Stiles suddenly remembers Liam swooning about Hayden. Since it was so random, such a typical teenage lovers thing to say, he has never given it much attention. After hearing her words, it’s like someone pulled the veil away from his eyes. When they were running from the beast and had to cross the chasm, Hayden – a chimera barely back from the dead, barely _knowing_ about her powers – made the jump without any problems. Liam, even though he has been an actual werewolf for months at that point, didn’t. He failed. He almost didn’t even catch the edge of that chasm. What’s the difference? Scott taught him how to control his powers because he is afraid of them. Theo taught them how to control their powers, so they could embrace them.

Corey runs a hand over his throat before curling his fingers around the edges of the desk he sits on. “He never lied to us either. We knew we weren’t his first choice. We knew he didn’t care about us the way he cares about-" His eyes briefly dart to Stiles in a way that makes him feel strangely exposed, like a nude model in the middle of class. It’s like he knows _everything_. “But he always believed power comes from a strong pack.” Corey turns away again, now focusing his eyes on his and Mason’s hands. “Until Deucalion told him otherwise.” Until Scott brought a man back to Beacon Hills, who’s manipulated people into killing before, who _ordered_ people to kill before. Until Scott straight up risked everyone’s life by trusting a psychopath.

Has he really been this naïve? What even has been his end goal? What if Theo killed everyone, if he stole the beast power, killed Mason in the process, what if it _worked?_ What if Theo didn’t believe Deucalion? If he attacked him instead of Corey? What if Deucalion betrayed Scott? Derek and he exiled him, they told him to leave and he owed them their lives. But what if he had repaid his debt by working with Scott, only to turn on him later? This idea could’ve killed them. Deucalion is powerful, far more powerful than any of them can imagine – and he’s still not to be trusted.

Scott brought a murderer onto a territory that isn’t his. If Satomi were any different, the consequences for this decision could’ve been a lot worse than a simple scolding.

“He did a lot of shit... but...” Hayden shrugs, pulls her shoulders up.

Stiles looks around the room, furrows his brows. Honestly, he can’t tell where this discussion is supposed to go. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says waving a hand around dismissively, “it seems to me you already made your decision, so... why are you trying to convince me to keep him around? I mean, I just spend his birthday with him.” He lowers his hand again, massages the side of his stomach with a frown. “And Scott’s not going to change his mind just because I did.” In all honesty, the guy needs some sense beaten into him. Like, right now preferably. Otherwise, he’ll never understand that his worldview is neither law nor always correct. No good leader works by the ‘Do as I say not as I do' mentality. That’s what’ll cause him to get his ass kicked eventually.

“It’s just that Theo... cares most about you,” Liam says sounding more uncertain than a middle schooler who skipped required reading for the first time in life and now tries his hand at improvising an answer.

Stiles groans. Somehow, he isn’t all that surprised by this statement. He gets where they are coming from, but that doesn’t change a thing. Neither will he be Theo's social worker nor Malia's anchor. “I’m fucked up,” he admits quietly, grabbing Lydia’s hand as she squeezes his good shoulder gently. “I can barely get my own shit together. I won’t take Theo by the hand to lead him to the promised land... and even if I wanted to, I can’t.”

“That’s not what we’re asking of you.” Lydia runs her free hand through his strands. “We just wanted to know you understand where we’re coming from.” _If it takes Theo so I can keep you, then I’m willing to compromise._ Fucking hell, if this blows up in all their faces, he can’t even come around the corner, look at the mess and say ‘ _I told you so_ ' because he’s in on it, he’s willing to give Theo a second chance – even more after spending a day with him.

Stiles sighs. “Let’s tame the beast.”

 

“Kiddo?” Stiles looks up from his barely touched breakfast scramble. His father stands in the doorway to the kitchen, shaving cream on one half of his face and still wearing his pyjama. His expression clearly begs some Devine being to have mercy on his soul, and Stiles has zero explanation for that. “Is there a particular reason the Talbot siblings are standing in our driveway?” He points his razor at the window.

Stiles turns around.

Brett sits on the hood of his car muttering to himself while Lori stands next to him bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Hard to tell if that’s the result of nervous energy or excitement. That is unusual. He doesn’t remember any conversations between them that could’ve led Brett to pick Stiles up before school.

Squinting, he faces his father again. “No clue.”

“You’re still grounded.”

“I’m aware of that.” He has the days of the week down, and he can also count to seven. Magical, isn’t it?

The razor points at him in clear warning. “If Natalie tells me you skipped school-"

“Oh my God, _Dad_.” Stiles pushes his breakfast away and grabs his backpack. He’s not going to let this permission go to waste. “It’s probably something about that goblin.” He hopes, at least. No way in hell can he handle yet another shit show – neither mentally nor physically.

There’s another warning jab in his direction. “If he asks you on a date, say no. You’re the sheriff’s only child. I don’t need your misbehaviours eternalised in various social media accounts.”

Stiles blinks, shakes his head. _I’m sorry what?_ Did he hear that correctly or is his imagination playing a trick on him?  Not that he wanted to complain. If his father went from ‘ _I was sure you’re not gay because you dress to impress and – good lord – that outfit was one step over pyjama_ ' to ‘ _I know you like boys too, but, please, don’t date Beacon County's Golden Boy, I can only handle so much trouble at once_ ’, Stiles is the last person to argue with him. It’s progress, definitively. Never mind that it’s going in the completely wrong direction. Not that Brett doesn’t look great with his toned body and lazy smirk. But, fucking hell, this guy wouldn’t know what dating means if he looked it up in a dictionary. “I promise to dive out of his moving car.” Stiles _really_ can’t be assed to date anyone seriously right now. He needs to fix himself, he needs to be able to look at himself in the mirror again, then he’ll consider the possibility of getting out there.

“Thank you.”

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Stiles darts past his father and down the hallway. At least, it seems like he has one thing less to stress over. And even if that was the only thing he hasn't been at all worried about, his father telling him he’s onboard means the world to him.

“Kiddo!”

“Do you want me to wait until he’s standing at a red light before I make the jump?” Stiles turns grinning and curls his fingers around the straps of his backpack.

His father smiles, and it’s the kind of smile parents reserve for children who excel in school or at sport or do something to be proud of. _Proud_. Jesus fucking Christ. “I’m glad to see you smile again.”

A lump forms in his throat. Stiles has to take multiple breaths to keep himself from dissolving into tears. He barely manages it, and his voice got lost somewhere along the way. So, instead of saying anything, he rushes back down the short hallway and crashes into his father. The moment he is close enough, his dad curls a hand around the nape of his neck and pulls him in, holds him close. Stiles wraps his arms around him, presses his mouth and nose against his shoulder. _I love you. I love you. I love you,_ he thinks unable to say it but his father hugs him tighter and maybe he doesn’t need to.

 

“Okay, what’s with the ambush?” Stiles asks, shuts the door and turns on the passenger’s seat to scrutinise the Talbot siblings. Lori's pout and crossed arms make abundantly clear that she’s not signed up for the backseat while Brett casually starts the car.

He glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Where’s your poodle?”

Stiles can’t believe that’s the nickname he chose to go with. They could probably have an endless discussion about properly naming Theo Raeken but he has a distinct feeling there are more productive ways to waste his time. He sinks deeper into the passenger’s seat, glad about the surprisingly large legroom for the sporty car. “Theo is-“ Stiles furrows his brows- “in the gym at school.” Wait- _what_? He frowns, shakes his head. “I mean, he’s- he's most likely at the gym since he looks like the type who wakes up at five to meet up with his friends Dumbbell and Barbell.” Yeah. That sounds better. Much better. He doesn’t _know_ for sure Theo’s at the gym. Just like he didn’t know Theo was at that lake. The gym only popped up in his mind because it’s the most logical conclusion. That’s all. Nothing to it. Perfectly reasonable.

Brett glances at him, then into the rear-view mirror. “I didn’t need to know his morning routine.”

“Why did you need his location?”

“Because he’s terrible at starting a serious conversation.” Lori leans forward and props her chin on the backrest of Brett’s seat. “We’re actually here on official werewolf business.”

“I really wonder why I’m named second in command,” Brett mutters rolling his eyes.

Lori scoffs. “That would make two.”

“That was a crack on your boring-ass discipline, Lorilee. I’m an amazing leader.”

“Uh-huh,” she drawls flopping back against the backseat with a huff. _God_ , siblings sound exhausting. The blood-related ones at least. Those don’t go home and give you time to reenergise.

Stiles quirks his brow. “What’s this all about?”

Brett taps an unfamiliar rhythm on the steering wheel. “Satomi wonders if Theo has ever mentioned anything regarding joining a pack.” His gaze flits to Stiles when he sets the blinker, then he checks over his shoulder. Despite his clear ignorance of the speed limit, Brett drives carefully. “Omegas are bound to lose their shit over longer periods of time. Especially the younger ones. Wolves need to have a pack, you know?”

Sure, he does. Even though Derek hasn’t told them much, he used to be pretty explicit about the negative sides of anything werewolf related – hunters, omegas, pack wars, young werewolves going completely bonkers. “Theo’s not exactly a real wolf, though.” And he isn’t exactly a pack animal either. Unless he leads it. He’s been turned with nine. If it hasn’t driven him nuts by now, he doubts that’ll change anytime soon.

“Humans do need a pack too,” Lori pipes up, and Stiles turns to look at her, but she stares out of the window. “They just call it 'family'.”

“Oh, don’t be stupid now.” Brett narrows his eyes when he glances in the rear-view mirror again. “There’s still a difference between family, pack, and family inside a pack.” His gaze flicks to Stiles, then back to the traffic. “That’s why the Hales were so powerful.” They weren’t just a pack; they were also family. That’s something Derek hasn’t told them. Maybe that’s part of the reason why the odd constellation of Derek’s blood, Lydia, as well as the light of the moon, managed to drag Peter out of his grave.

 _Werewolves_ , seriously.

Stiles plays with the zipper of his jacket, eyebrows drawn together. “Their bond was stronger?”

“Yeah.” Brett nods.

Lori leans forward fidgeting with the fabric of the driver’s seat. “It’s like, if you’re pack, you can feel when the other is hurt or dies, you know? But when you’re family as well...” She purses her lips and tugs on a strand of hair. “It’s crazy intense. You can sense how the other feels and where they are.” She contemplates her brother for a moment, who hums his agreement.

Stiles scrunches up his nose. What they _feel_? That sounds nasty. Hopefully, he and his dad never end up bitten and in the same pack. Nobody needs to sense what’s going on inside of him eighty percent of the time. Actually, never mind that. Nobody needs to know what he feels _ever_. His emotions are a mess and a half. If he’s constantly exhausted by it, he doesn’t want to know how someone else feels. Then again, his father would, in his current position at least, most likely take sensing Stiles’ location with whatever downside it may have. “Hm.” He chews on his bottom lip for a moment. Sense where the other _is_. The shared DNA most likely amplifies a normal pack bond. But is that all? His stomach drops. First the lake, now the gym. Well, he doesn’t _know_ Theo’s at the gym. That’s just a feeling.

But is it, though?

“Can such a connection be achieved differently? Or is that really just a family thing?”

Brett stops at a red light, leans forward then back before turning his attention to Stiles. “The connection between an alpha and their bitten beta is similar. To a certain degree.”

“If neither side rejects the bond,” Lori adds and clicks her tongue.

“Yeah. Also, if you’re like my sister and believe in the fairy tale that is _mates_.” Brett scoffs, waves his left hand dismissively in the direction of the window.

Lori kicks the backrest of her brother’s seat. “Just because you can’t stand a person longer than you’re inside of them doesn’t mean anybody has to live like that.”

Stiles slumps in his seat chuckling quietly to himself. Seems like he judged incorrectly. The sweet little girl he mostly saw from a distance is her brother’s sister without any doubt. Perhaps Brett being worse fooled him into naively pigeonholing Lori as the innocent one in the family. He should’ve known better. With a brother like that, she was bound to be a sly dog.

“You’re a hopeless romantic.”

“And you’re an asshole.”

Thank fuck, he’s an only child. He’d go nuts if he had to suffer through this on a daily basis. “We’ll talk again after your first breakup.” Stiles grins at her over his shoulder, and Lori sticks her tongue out before turning back to the window muttering to herself. He doesn’t necessarily agree with Brett but he sure as hell isn’t on her side either. Although he has to admit, no strings attached hook-ups sound rather alluring right now. Maybe he should go clubbing with Brett. Maybe his head is more on board with the whole hook-up thing when a stranger is involved, someone he doesn’t have to keep around, someone who’s not a member of the supernatural community. 

“Thank you.” Brett chuckles and slows down when they near the school. “Anyway, those are the wolves who are able to sense another’s location. I mean, there’s the whole bond between a kanima and its master but that’s more the exception of the rule.” Right, Matt and Gerard have been able to find Jackson no matter where he ran around. That’s fucked up – the whole master-kanima relationship is a mess. Anybody who’d use another creature or human deserves to end up in the lowest and darkest circles of Hell. People like Gerard are scum. Scott should’ve exchanged his medication with rat poison instead of wolfsbane. That would’ve ensured the low-life’s demise instead of gambling everything on the bite of an unwilling alpha.

Stiles stiffens suddenly. _Now, hold on just a second_. And he’s been afraid of telling his best friend about being involved with an accidental death? If Scott’s plan had worked, he could’ve been judged with premeditated murder. But _he’s_ the one who bashes a chimera’s head in. _He’s_ the murderer of the two of them. Whether Scott brought Deucalion back to kill Theo or not doesn’t seem like much of a question all of the sudden. Stiles grinds his teeth. _What is happening_? _How did I miss this_? And furthermore, what else hasn’t he noticed because of the blind faith he had in his best friend? He was forcefully removed from the pack for not even a week, and the first thing Scott comes up with is _Deucalion_. Seriously, that’s why he’s the strategist, that’s why he is the one with the plans. Everything would go to hell without him.

But they don’t talk anymore.

Everything has already gone to hell.

“So…” Brett clears his throat, hands shifting almost restlessly around the steering wheel while he stares at the last red light between them and the school. “You gonna talk to him, or what?”

Lori slaps a hand against her forehead.

Stiles needs a moment to find his way back to the conversation. Right. Theo. The Ito pack. He scrutinises Brett. “Shouldn’t Satomi be the one to talk to him? Or your emissary?”

“She tried summoning him, but Theo’s isn’t exactly responsive,” Lori says watching a group of students venture into the school. Of course, he’s not answering her call. Theo being a run-of-the-mill member is like Lydia being a bad student; they don’t go together. At all. It still makes sense Satomi wants to include someone like Theo in her pack – especially after the Deadpool weakened it. Not only offers it stability and a modicum of control over an erratic supernatural creature, Theo is also an amazing fighter. Strong, willing, too proud to lose – and with the ability to cross mountain ash which would give the pack an advantage when dealing with hunters.

Although he understands, he doesn’t want to end up as some intermediary. He has enough shit on his hands. “You talk,” Stiles says removing the seatbelt, “I make him listen.”

Brett groans. “ _Fine_.”

“Wonderful.” Stiles pats his shoulder, then opens the door and slips out of the car. “Saturday night. Wear comfortable shoes, we're hiking.” Stiles’ father wasn’t amused, not at all, but he relented after he promised to keep his phone on and not to do anything stupid. Also, the second Lydia looks as if she predicts the apocalypse, he was supposed to tug tail and run in the other direction. Which is fair. It’s also a pack bonding adventure, so there’s no way he’ll back out of it; having Brett join perhaps helps to stop Liam from moaning and groaning every single time Lydia and he mention the other werewolf.

No one needs to know that the destination of their hike may potentially be plagued by something supernatural. Seeing that his father started using the ‘ _you’re seventeen'_ argument, it’s entirely possible that he will continue to do so to keep his son from doing what he usually does; running face-first into the next supernatural problem wielding nothing but an aluminium bat.

Also, Theo. He can’t just run away. Well, technically he could but he won’t - or Stiles is going to bury his sorry ass down by the creek.

Convincing Theo to come, however, that’ll be a piece of work.

“We're doing what now?”

Lori pokes her head between the two front seats. “I’ll come too.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What? Why _not_?”

“Because I’m the oldest and I say so.”

Stiles raps his knuckles against the hood. “I’ll text you time and address,” he says and slams the door shut before the argument could get really heated. Also, he wanted to talk to Theo before classes start, in case he’ll have to text Lydia for reinforcement. Considering that he stuck around before, Stiles doubts Theo’s going to make this complicated – even less after the day they’ve spent together. Still, it’s Theo. Easy isn’t exactly his middle name. He also has to find him first. Maybe he isn’t even at school yet.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he searches the parking lot. A few rows down, he spots Theo’s truck. With a sinking feeling, Stiles pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and sends him a quick text while walking into the school building.

_Where are you? <<_

Stiles wraps his fingers tightly around the phone. _Please, don’t say you’re at the gym. Please, don’t say you’re at the gym_. He can’t ignore it any longer if Theo confirms his location. Well, technically he _can_ still ignore it. He’s great at ignoring basically everything. However, whether he should ignore something like that is a completely different question. He probably shouldn’t. But if Brett is right – and he most likely is with an alpha like Satomi – then there can’t be anything between them. They aren’t family or mates or alpha and beta. Neither of them is a kanima. Stiles isn’t even a werewolf. The lake was purely coincidental. Has to be.

_> > Look up_

Two white Chucks appear in his peripheral vision, and he follows the instruction to find Theo standing next to him. Relief trickles down Stiles’ spine. No gym. Just early at school. But he is too, so he can’t really frown at that. _Thank fuck._ He pushes his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. “Hey.”

Theo nods. “You’re early.”

“I can say the same thing about you,” Stiles shoots back leaning against his locker. The hallway is almost completely empty. Somewhere further down stands the small group of friends he saw a few moments ago.

With a quiet chuckle, Theo turns to stay in front of him. “I was at the gym,” he says offhandedly, either completely ignoring or oblivious to Stiles’ heart skipping a beat. _Shit._ That can’t be happening. That _can’t_ be happening. Okay, _okay._ No reason to lose his shit just yet. Once is an incidence. Two is a coincidence. As long as it doesn’t happen a third time, he doesn’t have to ring the alarm. Right? _Right_. The gym really is nothing more than a conclusion he’s made after reviewing the evidence. _Look_ at the guy. Muscles like that don't appear overnight.

“Cool,” Stiles says, blinks and shifts his weight from one foot to the other before his gaze flicks back up to meet Theo’s. “What are you doing this weekend?”

Theo quirks his brows. “I suppose I’m having plans now?”

“Absolutely.” Stiles gestures briefly and bangs his funny bone against the lock of his locker. A sharp pang of pain echoes through his arm. _Fucking ow_. Cussing under his breath, he rubs his elbow under Theo’s amused chuckle. _Asshole_. Maybe he won’t bury him by the creek but dumping him inside remains a valid option. “You’re going on a hike on Saturday,” he explains eventually, and the enthusiasm he intended for the conversation suffers from severe wincing.

Theo squints at him. “A hike?” Okay, why does everybody sound so fucking bitter about it? Hikes can be _fun_.

“A hike at night.”

“Hiking sucks.”

“I get it,” Stiles drawls leaning closer with a smirk, “you’re an old man now. You gotta go to bed early.” Cackling quietly, he pokes a finger against his shoulder – and, _holy damn,_ he constantly forgets the skin of a werecreature equals a fucking marble wall. With a frown, he wiggles his fingers, glares as Theo snorts out a laugh. “Performance issues are perfectly normal.”

“Performance issues?” Theo echoes shaking his head. Despite the low voice, a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. He leans closer, almost invading his personal bubble, and his blue eyes sparkle. “Not sure what kind of performances you’re used to but I’m pretty sure I can top that.”

Stiles opens his mouth. “What?” He heard what he said, it’s just that- _oh._ The words click into place, and heat creeps up his neck. “I- uh-" _Mouth, work_. Anything, really, please. But his brain and body have the terrible habit to slow down production whenever he desperately wants to get out of an awkward situation. “Get your mind out of the gutter.” There, that should be enough for now.

Theo raises a brow with a lazy smirk. “I thought we're talking about my ability to make it through a night hike?”

Stiles was, he wasn’t, and the asshole damn well knows it. He jabs a finger towards his face. “Don’t play innocent now, Theodore Raeken.”

His face falls, contorts into an almost snarl for the flicker of a second. He crowds him against the locker. “Don’t call me Theodore.”

Stiles grins, tries to ignore the proximity, tries to ignore how nice Theo smells and how close his face would be if he leaned forward a little more. Really, just the tiniest bit. Maybe he’ll figure out if he tastes like the scent of apples on his breath. His heart hammers against his ribs, and he swallows, puts a hand on Theo's arm. “But _Teodor_ -" Stiles gives the rolling of the r his best shot; his grandmother may be satisfied with the result and Theo snorts out a laugh- “you’re old now. I have to call you by a fitting name.”

“You are a nuisance.” He raps his knuckles against the locker without moving away, and Stiles finds himself okay with that. Very okay.

Maybe a little too okay.

He looks at his hand around Theo’s arm, feels the rough fabric of the black jacket underneath his skin, tightens his grips assessing his reactions. The muscles remain relaxed. A smile creeps onto Stiles' lips, genuine but unsure, and Theo lets his head fall forward, rests his forehead against his shoulder. He takes a slow and deep breath, like he wants to internalise every last scent. Briefly, he wonders if Theo can still smell his dad’s shaving cream on his neck or the few tears that ultimately did sneak out of the corners of his firmly closed eyes.

They remain like that for a while, remain unmoving until Theo curls his arms around Stiles' waist, one by one, slow enough that his touch seeps through the fabric of his clothes and sets his skin ablaze. His arms feel secure, but he doesn’t pull Stiles against him; Theo pulls his own body forward, shifts closer, shifts until their bodies are perfectly aligned, until their heartbeats fall in sync, until Stiles closes his eyes and feels nothing but Theo against him, his stubble against his jawline and the strands of hair against his ear. The grip tightens, fingers dig into the small of his back noticeably – and Stiles stiffens, can’t help himself, can’t stop it.

Theo moves away immediately. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Stiles squeezes his arm, then takes his hand away to push both in the pockets of his jeans. “It’s not you.” _It’s me_. God, he sounds so stupid. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he keeps his eyes directed on the front door while Theo searches his face for an answer Stiles doesn’t know he wants to give. Things become real as soon as they are spoken aloud. Some things will stay hidden in the back of his mind because he doesn’t know if he can make it through when they are out in the open. It’s just shit piled on top of more shit – and here he thought he could hook up with people; in a body that’s not his own, a body he doesn’t quite feel home in, a body that has marks and damages from other people.

Sometimes he wonders if he’ll ever be truly okay again.

Theo brushes his thumb over the back of his hand. Careful. Hesitant. Stiles briefly smiles at him, tries to make sure he understands this has nothing to do with him, that it’s not his fault. When they lock eyes, he grabs Theo’s hand, squeezes it tightly. Although it’s something he does with Lydia all the time, this gesture feels so different from Theo, more significant, intense – and it’s too short. His fingers slip away. The press of a warm palm against his disappears. He shudders, feels cold and pushes his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He tries to turn away but can’t, tries to tear his gaze away from Theo but his gaze drops to his mouth.

Stiles licks his lips, looks up, back down again. He swallows around the lump in his throat, swallows when something heavy settles in the pit of his stomach. Theo’s looking at his mouth too. Stiles' hand finds the jacket, curls around the zipper. He could pull him close, tug him in, crash their mouths together. He wants to. He really does, and it’s not the first time he thinks about it. But his feet remain rooted to the floor. His hand remains curled into Theo’s jacket. His body struggles to come to a conclusion. Keep him at a distance. Pull him close.

The door opens and with that takes his decision away from him. Stiles pushes his hands back in the pockets of his hoodie, turns towards the entrance – and his mouth falls open when he sees Kira walking into the school next to Lydia, who spots them first, eyes darting back and forth between Theo and him. _She knows_ , Stiles thinks suddenly, heart hammering against his chest. They stand too close. It’s something on their faces. Something about them gives it away.

“Stiles!” Kira pops up in front of him in the blink of an eye, ponytail bouncing. “I’m back!” Her arms fly around his neck and shoulders, almost crushing him with her embrace. “I mean-“ She pulls back beaming at him- “you can see I’m back but I’m back  _back_. To stay. I made it!” Kira hugs him again, and Stiles has trouble getting a word behind the other. “I’m back!”

 _Jesus fucking Christ_. Kira. Back. Kira is back. She is right here, right in front of him. How-? He stares at her. It’s like she barely left. How much time has passed since he’s last seen her? God. _Fuck_. This isn’t a dream? It’s not. He has to check, has to make sure. Too much happened within the last five minutes. “Kira,” he whispers and pokes her cheek.

She chuckles, grabs his hand. “I _missed_ you.”

Stiles blinks once, then twice and exchanges a quick glance with Lydia, still trying to figure out if he imagines her. She smiles, nods. “Kira,” he repeats, then hauls her into an embrace. She left, came back, left, came back and left. Part of him thought he will never see her again. But here she is. Live and in colour. She’s alive. She’s back. She’s here. He can’t believe it. He can’t- Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, lets out a long breath turning into laughter.

“You’re back.” After everything seemed doomed for her, she pulled through, she made it out of her own darkness. 

Kira grins when she steps back, nods. “I’m back. And-“ Her face falls, fingers finding each other in front of her stomach when she looks past Stiles at Theo. She takes a breath, raises her hand. “And I owe you an apology. The Skinwalkers got into my head. All I wanted was to protect my friends. I didn’t think about anything else. If Lydia hadn’t stopped me-“

“It’s whatever,” Theo says making it sound as if she’s apologising for taking the last slice of pizza.

Kira twists her shirt between her fingers. “I just thought for a fresh start we should have a clean slate and-"

Theo shrugs, “yeah, ok. Cool. Sorry for... killing Scott, I guess.” Stiles rolls his eyes, but Theo already turns away, shoulders pulled up. He doesn’t look at Stiles when he says, “see you in Psychology.” Without another word, he walks down the hallway and vanishes around the corner.

“Oh no.”

Stiles shakes his head. “This has nothing to do with you, Kira.”

“What happened between you?” Lydia puts a hand on his arm, squeezes it gently. That’s a _very_ good question. What happened? What _is_ happening? Something changed between them, he just has to figure out what that is, so he can fix this whatever this is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' age... I got SO confused about it. His canon birthday is on the 8th of April. But he said in S3a that he's not 17 yet. Meaning, he turns 17 at the end of junior year and 18 at the end of senior year. I know it doesn't line up with s1&2\. (I think. I don't remember.) For the sake of the story, I decided to disregard the first two seasons & went with the (hopefully) first time Stiles mentioned his age in canon.


	3. beaucoup

No matter who you ask, everybody will tell you there is a point in life where it can’t get any worse. Once you hit that low, you’ll know, and you’ll get through it by remembering that it only goes uphill from here. Stiles thought he had reached that point when his father was almost ritually sacrificed by a darach, then when the nogitsune used him for mayhem and mass murder, then when he killed Donovan, then when Scott pushed him out of the pack because he thought Stiles had brutally murdered a chimera while Stiles tried to defend his self-defence, then when his father almost died.

Ever since the beginning of junior year, his life was one big downward spiral with periods of time in between which gave him a chance to breathe. It led him to a conclusion: regression to the mean is utter _bullshit_. His scale has tipped to the bad side and only dipped low and lower until it hit really fucking bad. Every single time he thinks it may get better; someone gives his scale a jarring kick making sure it stays put. The situation calmed down. His grounding ends tomorrow at exactly twelve a.m., and his father took the afternoon off, so they have a shot at some quality father-and-son time. They should be on their way home right now.

Instead, he finds himself sitting on a bench in front of the school waiting for his father to pick him up. Gabe's mother has come to the station again causing a ruckus demanding to speak to the sheriff and nobody else. He’s not mad at his father. He’s used to it. Shit, he probably wouldn’t handle this any different. After all, his father was _elected_. Stiles wants him to keep his job, so he waits patiently. His father being late isn’t even the problem, it’s Scott’s clumsy attempt to talk to him; something he started spectacularly with ‘I saw you with Theo yesterday morning’. So, nothing that indicated this conversation will solve their personal dilemma. The more days pass, the more Stiles gets the feeling Scott doesn’t even care about saving their friendship.

Stiles knows his best friend long enough to predict where this is going to end. “I won’t stay away from him for Malia.”  

Scott frowns slightly. “He killed me.”

“Well, it didn’t last, huh?” Stiles doesn’t look at Scott. That doesn’t seem to matter, because Scott doesn’t look at him either. Not the best foundation for any sort of conversation, is it? Especially not one that should fix things. But Stiles doesn’t see that happening, and he’s too exhausted to fight a battle all by himself. Even less when he knows it won’t lead to anything other than further frustration. Scott thinks he’s in the right – which he clearly isn’t – and Stiles is not ready to let the thing slide. The longer Scott waits to give him the explanation he demands, the more he risks Stiles doubling down and cutting him off completely.

Scott digs his heel into the ground like he does every single time he wants to push his will onto those around him; sometimes even at the risk of throwing someone else under the bus. “You’re just gonna ignore that?”

“No.” Stiles won’t ignore anything Theo has ever done, including almost driving Lydia out of her mind, including helping to save his father, including saving Stiles. But that doesn’t matter to Scott. What matters is that Theo attempted to kill _him_ , that Theo tried to ruin _his_ life, that the True Alpha was never Theo’s top priority but an obstacle; worthless enough he even passed on stealing his powers because it was easier to have him out of the way.

Stiles never knew his best friend’s ego is so massive yet fragile at the same time that he gives Deucalion a second chance while continuously trying his hardest to get rid of Theo.

Scott moves his foot in a small circle, then kicks both back underneath the bench. “I just think Malia shouldn’t see that.” _That_. As if Stiles did something disgusting. He doesn’t have the strength to push Theo away. He doesn’t have the energy to fight whatever pulls them together. The voice in the back of his mind remains hesitant, calls for attention. That boy is still Theo, even if he’s quiet, even if he’s weird. He may still be the one who crushed Gabe’s hand with a hammer.

“I’m not responsible for what Malia should and shouldn’t see.” Stiles bounces his left leg, eyes roaming around the parking lot hoping desperately for his father to pick him up. Or anyone, really. He would even take a ride from Theo over sitting here, over talking about responsibilities he doesn’t want and doesn’t need to take upon himself. The truck parks a few rows down, so he’s still at school – either the gym or the library. The latter, Stiles concludes pushing the nagging thoughts away; Theo said something about wanting to catch up what he missed.

Scott glances at him. “You’re her anchor.”

“I’m not.” Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t want to be anybody’s anchor.”

“Sometimes you have to do things you… don’t want to.”

A fist curls around his stomach, tight and unrelenting. “Like pushing your best friend out of your pack believing he’s a violent murderer.” Stiles grabs his backpack and gets to his feet. He'd rather walk home than have this conversation. Despite everything, Stiles allows himself the luxury of putting himself first, of being his own priority as long as this hellhole of a town lets him. He won’t bend to the will of others. He will do what he thinks is right. He will not make himself small so the people around him feel better about themselves. He saved lives. He told everyone Theo has ulterior motives. Liam at the very least had the guts to apologise. Scott threw his own mistake back in his face. _You trusted him too._ No. No, he absolutely did not, and just because they all decided to give Theo another chance doesn’t mean he trusts him a hundred percent right now.

Stiles doesn’t trust Scott either. Currently, only two people hold his unbreakable faith, his father and Lydia.

Scott stands up as well. “You should’ve seen him,” he says grabbing Stiles’ upper arm. “And- and his heartbeat. It was steady.” His grip is vice-like.

Stiles tears himself free. “Oh, _listen_ to you. Fucking werewolves.” He promised himself to stay calm when they talk about this. “You believed that I could bash someone’s head in. You believed that I would attack _you too._ ” He pulls away, heart hammering against his chest, anger boiling in the pit of his stomach. His hands shake when he curls them into fists, nails biting into his palms. For the briefest of seconds, he wants to break Scott’s nose. Just because. It’ll heal, after all. But he doesn’t. Wouldn’t. Not again. He’s not letting his Adderall and sleep deprivation and anger get the best of him.

Scott watches him, eyes roaming over his face with his expression of silent exasperation. He’s looking at him as if he blows things out of proportion, as if he’s the one who’s completely unreasonable. “If you had been in my position-"

“I wouldn’t have believed him!” Stiles yells grabbing Scott by his shoulders, fingers digging into hard skin for a few seconds. A breath. And another one. Then he shoves him away. “What in the world made you think I could ever do something like that? Was it trying to keep Derek afloat for hours? Was it my willingness to die with you? Tell me, Scott-" He lowers his voice, speaks in nothing more than a whisper because he doesn’t want to hear it tremble, doesn’t want to hear it crack. This will not break him down. Not today. He cried enough tears about it. “Tell me, what makes me a murderer in your eyes?”

Scott opens his mouth. His gaze darts back to something over his shoulder, something way in the distance. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see-"

“Why did you believe I’m a killer?”

“I don’t know why I believed him.” Scott reaches out for him, but Stiles slaps his hand away, moves back a couple of steps. No. _No_. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Stiles grinds his teeth. He could give in. He could be the bigger person, let things go back to how they used to be. But he can’t. He won’t. “You can’t apologise for something like that,” Stiles says wrapping his fingers around the straps of his backpack. “You have to ask for forgiveness.” _What do I do about this?_ His own words ring in his ears, scream in the back of his mind. He can’t shut it out. That train wreck of a confrontation replays over and over like a video clip stuck on repeat. _What do you want me to do? Just tell me how to fix this!_ His muscles tense, and he still feels as if he’s on the verge of jumping Scott, of beating him, of doing something.  

“Stiles, please-“

His heart pounds in his chest, fingers shaking when he fumbles for his phone. No new text from his father. _Fuck_. He needs to leave now, or he’ll do something he’s going to regret. The phone almost slips from his trembling hands as he scrolls through his contacts for Theo’s number. He needs him. He is the only one who can get him out of here, who understands how ugly this kind of fury can become.

“ _Stiles_.”

“Shut up,” he snaps spinning away. Just looking at his fucking face has his blood boiling and fists twitching. Stiles can’t- he can’t stay here. If he doesn’t leave now- god, _fuck_ , he has to leave. “Just- don’t _talk_ to me, okay?” He throws a glare over his shoulder, finds Scott’s eyes and holds his stare for a few seconds, one hand still clasped around the phone. “Unless you can give me an answer to my question.” _If you steer right and the car goes left, no amount of duct tape will keep it together._ Scott needs to steer right too, or this car will total at the next intersection.

When he turns back around, the phone does go flying. He cusses, anger clawing at his throat, and picks it up. Good thing he chose to get a case because he really doesn’t have the money for a new one. It still may only survive so many falls, so he pushes it into the pocket of his jacket. Fuck calling Theo. Fuck waiting for his father. He’s walking this off or he'll break something.

 

He did break something. Namely, the skin over his knuckles. He told his father he went grocery shopping in case he would arrive home after him. He did go grocery shopping. That wasn’t a lie. Doesn’t meant he didn’t take a giant detour – and when he passed his old, now abandoned elementary school, he lost his shit. Completely. Equipped with a thick branch, he went for the desk in the corner of a classroom; the desk Stiles had been sitting at when he had met Scott for the first time. It had been a split second. Heather had just walked away from him to greet one of her friends. If he had called her back, Scott would never have approached him, and Theo would have sat down next to instead of in front of him.

Until he got home, and his father freaked because of the blood trickling down his fingers – yes, he had punched the blackboard, no, it hadn’t been his best idea – Stiles felt a certain sense of relief. The irritation simmered in the depth of his veins. At first, he didn’t intend to tell his father the truth about what happened to his hand but decided against it. He didn’t want to lie to him again. Of course, he wasn’t happy about the vandalism, even less about his son getting rid of his bottled-up anger through violence. Still, he let it go and told him to talk to someone the next time he feels like this, told him to call him whenever or go to Natalie, to Lydia, if she’s ready to deal with this kind of emotional baggage, while cleaning and bandaging his knuckles.

The crease between his eyebrows only left after they finished cooking. They ate, they talked about a lot of things, oftentimes finding themselves circling back to the age-old question ‘is there someone you _like_ , kiddo?’ to which Stiles replied, ‘No, Dad’. Because that was the plan, and he intended to go with the plan. Either way, the concrete truth isn’t an option. He’s not quite sure how well his father would take the admission that he felt surprisingly comfortable around Theo fucking Raeken, who he may or may not find attractive as hell. He’ll wait with that conversation until everybody has gotten used to Theo hanging around. Although, for some reason, Stiles had the hunch that his father was already aware of something. Stiles inherited his perception from him after all.

 

“I don’t understand why she felt the need to discuss this.” Lydia flicks her ponytail over her shoulder before diving into her a discussion about whatever happened in AP Biology. Stiles stares at her, trying to listen, trying to look as if he’s listening. Not a single word after that gets into his skull. He stands there, sees his friends' mouths move, hears what they say, yet none of the words reach him. Which is not particularly unusual for him. Sometimes his mind needs a bit of time until it catches up with new information. But right now, he’s just... completely out of the loop.

They stand in a small circle near the exit and wait for the puppy portion of the pack to arrive. Which can’t happen fast enough, if someone asks Stiles. He just wants to sit down again and stare at his homework in silence. Not much keeps him awake on his feet. The wall behind him is probably seventy percent of the reason, the other thirty are split – not necessarily evenly – between desperation, hypervigilance and sheer power of will.

When Hayden and Liam arrive, she goes off about something that happened during PE. Presumably. He didn’t really catch the beginning of the story, only picks up the phrase _‘and that bitch had the nerve...’_. The rest is lost on him. Maybe because he doesn’t give a flying fuck about her drama. Maybe because he really can’t keep his focus on a conversation longer than two seconds. Doesn’t matter. Who gives a fuck? It’s not like he’ll miss something if he opts out of listening to their retelling of what’s probably insignificant high school drama.

Scott and Malia pass them on their way to the cafeteria. The former greets them with an awkward wave. Theo turns away. Stiles finds himself doing the same. Lydia notices like she notices anything. They may not have spoken in the hallways, but they remained on a level of nodding at each other in passing. Aside from his father, Stiles hasn’t told anybody about yesterday’s confrontation. He doesn’t have the energy to dissect it. Neither does he want to go into detail about whether he’s overreacted or not. He might have. He might not have. Who cares at this point? Scott won’t have to come back to him unless he can give him a real answer. That’s all he wants, and that doesn’t need to be discussed.

“Has he talked to anyone?” Liam asks tugging at the sleeve of his sweater.

Kira nods but everyone else shakes their heads. Stiles doesn’t react at all.

Liam frowns. “I tried to at practise, but I think he avoids me.”

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Just because Stiles and Kira emphasised that they want him to come back to them with a reasonable explanation for his mistakes – believing Stiles is a mindless killer and consequently pushing him out of the pack as well as lying to Kira about her out of control fox – doesn’t mean everyone else deserves the silent treatment as well. Yes, Scott made a lot of mistakes, but nobody is irredeemable. They gave Theo a second chance to prove he’s capable of changing for fuck's sake. Why does Scott make it so difficult for them? Patching a relationship up is a two-way street. Scott can’t expect anyone to crawl back to him begging for _his_ forgiveness. That’s not how it works. Not anymore.

Hayden pats Liam’s arm. “He’ll come around.”

 _Or not_.

“Oh, you guys!” Mason hurries down the corridor, followed by Corey. “You won’t believe-"

Stiles rolls his eyes. Sit. He needs to sit. Not a single part of his body declines the request. His legs only buckle, give way, and he slides down the wall until he sits on the floor.

“Sweetheart, _what_ are you doing?” Lydia nudges his leg gently with her foot.

 _Giving up_. “Sitting until you’re done talking.” His friends contemplate him in silence for a few seconds, especially Lydia’s stare is rather disconcerting. He tenses, grinds his teeth for a few seconds. “I haven’t properly slept since I started taking Adderall again.” Frowning, he tugs at the bandage around his hand and lets his head fall against the concrete wall behind him. To be fair, he wasn’t sleeping well before that either. His medication only fucked up everything even more. He’s so tired, they could extract his exhaustion and create the strongest of sleeping pills out of it.

“That would explain why you look like something spat you out.”

Stiles shoots Liam a look. “Thanks.”

Theo scrutinises him, eyebrows drawn together. “You sure you’re up for the hike on Saturday?”

“What?” Stiles squints at him, and Theo patiently waits for the words to sink in. It takes a few seconds until it clicks. “Oh,” he says and purses his lips. That’s like two days away. He’ll be fine. One or two sleeping pills and off he goes. “Give me a few hours of sleep.” He waves his heavy hand dismissively. _God_ , every single part of his body feels as if someone attached about eight tonnes of stones to every single one. “Don’t think you’ll get out of this hike, old man.”

Theo huffs out a breath. “Get off the ground.”

And what? _Walk_ to the library? Does Theo even know how far that is from where they currently are? At least ten minutes. That is if he gets up on his own. Someone would have to carry him. “Just pick me up before you leave.”

“Sweetheart, we're not going to let you sit here by yourself.”

Stiles waves Lydia off. “It’s cool. I’m not-"

“Shut up.” Theo grabs his arms and hoists him to his feet so quickly, Stiles has zero chance to regain his balance. He has even less energy to fight for it _or_ fight Theo as he readjusts his grip around Stiles’ waist. His hoodie gives way to warm and soft digits, and Stiles struggles for a very long and very confusing moment whether he should lean against Theo, into his touch or pull completely away. With his brain's current speed resembling that of a drunk snail, Stiles reaches no conclusion by the time Theo hoists him up and flings him over his shoulder. At that point, he decides to just give up and live with the consequences. Even his pride is too tired to make an appearance.

“Oh my god.” Mason breaks into unhelpful laughter while Corey and the others stare at Stiles as if he's lost the last of his few working brain cells to sleep deprivation. They probably aren’t too far off. The thing that’ll haunt him the most, though, is how easily he tossed aside his dignity.

Stiles decides that ignorance is bliss after all and pats the small of Theo's back, who doesn’t seem to be that amused by being mistaken for a pony. He pinches his thigh in retaliation and doesn’t even struggle when Stiles jolts on his shoulder because of it.

 _Asshole_.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Liam asks, quite justified, to be totally honest.

Lydia shakes her head.

“Whatever drugs he is taking, I’d like to have some.” Hayden gestures in Stiles’ general direction as they started walking towards the library. Being carried by Theo isn’t the weirdest thing that has happened to him yet, and that’s probably saying something.

Stiles waves his bandaged hand with effort. “Pain meds and about two hours of sleep per night for about I don’t know how long.” For fuck's sake, he hasn’t been this tired since the nogitsune screwed with his whole system. Seriously, he fought tooth and nail to stay awake during AP World History. Mr. Yukimura most likely won’t take it personally in case he does fall asleep during class. He really rather wouldn’t though. His father won’t be happy about that. With how close all their parents have become after all the fuckery they went through, however, he’s bound to find out. They probably have enough to talk about during their biweekly dinners or lunches or breakfasts – whenever his dad and Melissa can fit it into their schedule, really – but Stiles bets his ass that Ken and Natalie find time to drop a bomb with unwanted information about what the kids are up to in school.

Either way, Stiles has just survived a grounding, he doesn’t need a repetition. Part of the reason for his imbalanced sleep schedule is his staying at home after all. Shortly after having to take a break from life because of a fucking shard of glass in his shoulder. He hadn’t exhausted himself in forever. The Adderall on top of that is a recipe for disaster. He has to do something. But maybe not tonight. “Okay,” Stiles amends rubbing his eyes, “let’s delay the hike.”

Theo claps his thigh in approval. “That’s the spirit.”

With a groan, Stiles lowers his head and closes his eyes with a sigh. This will haunt him forever, he can feel it.

 

It’s Parrish who grabbed him by his shoulders and stopped him dead in his tracks. It’s Parrish who hauled him into an embrace. It’s Parrish who prevented him from falling into pieces in the middle of the emergency room. Stiles screamed against his shoulder. Although the sound was muffled, it’s all he could hear. It’s all he could do. It’s all he could feel. An endless spiral of pain, anger, and fear boiling inside him, clawing at his skin, tearing at his muscles, grinding against his bones until he either broke apart or screamed. And Stiles knew, _he knew_ , he couldn’t break. Not right now. Not until his father will be back on his feet. There’s always one Stilinski who has to stand his ground. There’s always one Stilinski who has to take care of the other. Those are the rules when you’re a family of two. Those are the rules when his father is all he has left.  

But there are only so many blows he can suffer before he can’t take it anymore. There are only so many times he can see his father in the hospital before he cracks.

So, he screamed. He screamed until his throat burned, screamed until his voice gave out, screamed until he didn’t anymore.

 

Lydia runs her fingers through his hair, slow and calming. There’s a new bandage on his hand. His knuckles cleaned and disinfected. Theo sits at the foot of the hospital bed, reaching out, stopping, tugging at the blanket, pulling his hand away. Pause. Repeat. Liam sent some kind of emergency text after Stiles dashed out of the school and ran all the way to the hospital. They both immediately left AP Biology to come here, promised to keep the rest updated. Neither has moved to do so yet, although they were with him for almost an hour.

Jordan leans against the door, gaze directed out of the window towards the darkening sky. His dad sits on a chair in front of his bed, holds his hand and smiles. Worry carved lines between his eyebrows that refuse to leave. Maybe there are some on his forehead too. If so, they are hidden beneath a thick bandage that's wrapped around his head. He still wears his bloody uniform. He is pale too. But he didn’t die. He didn’t even have to go into surgery. Head wounds, Melissa told him after a nurse had sedated Stiles, bleed a lot because of the many blood vessels. A scalp can bleed profusely from the smallest injury. She didn’t tell him off for being an idiot. Stiles knows he should’ve listened to Jordan when he told him not to worry. The words ‘your father is in the hospital' made him snap, and he dropped his phone, left his backpack and ran instead of waiting for the explanation.

“Three.”

Stiles looks away from his father’s bandage, locks eyes with him. _Three_ , his mind repeats, such a simple word, yet it seems like it's coming from a language he doesn’t speak. _Three_ , it offers again, and this time Stiles understands what it means, but he misses the connection. He clears his throat, pushes a hand underneath his pillow. “Three?”

“Staples.” His dad points at the back of his head. There’s a pause during which he squeezes Stiles' hand. “Three staples,” he adds, “three staples, that’s all I needed.” For anyone outside hearing them, this probably sounds as if the sheriff talks to a little child that doesn’t understand any better instead of a seventeen-year-old who should be perfectly capable of getting it the first time. But he doesn’t. No matter how hard Stiles tries to focus on his father’s words, his mind always spirals back to _there’s so much blood on his uniform_. He hears him. He just doesn’t process the words immediately. It’s like his brain is out of synch with the rest of the world, working hard but with a delay.

Stiles rubs a hand over his face, frowns and slowly sits up. Lydia helps him, then puts her chin on his shoulder. Her proximity helps him a lot, it keeps him calm, keeps his heart at ease, grounds him. So, he curls his free arm around her shoulder. His eyes slowly drag away from the blood of his dad’s uniform. He meets Theo’s gaze, and for a dreadful, choking second all Stiles wants is Theo to be the one holding him. He hates it, hates how unfair it is towards Lydia, hates how much he craves it regardless. Yet, somewhere deep down, he knows Theo would hold him, would press his lips to his ear and tell him ‘I take care of it’. Because that’s what Theo does, doesn’t he? Take care of things.

Closing his eyes, Stiles leans his head against Lydia’s, and while she holds him, he lets the thought sink in he tried so hard to push away. _I want the man dead._ Simple as that. He wants the man gone who tried to murder his father in front of the kindergarten. He wants the man dead who was so blind from malice that he risked traumatizing children to kill his dad. _Everyone_ who dares to harm his father in any way should find an early grave. It’s not enough for him to be put in jail when they’ll find him. It’s not enough for him to have a chance of getting out. People like him won’t stop. People like him _need to be_ stopped.

“Will you stay with him?” His father asks, and Stiles opens his eyes again. “Just for tonight. I’m home tomorrow morning.”

Lydia nods. “Of course.”

“Sure,” Jordan agrees.

“I didn’t plan to go anywhere,” Theo says running his thumb over the blanket, presses his fingertip against Stiles' ankle.

 

Lydia frowns at the dish filled with untouched food. She probably doesn’t mean for him to see but that doesn’t change the fact he notices. Stiles recognises the behaviour. He’s seen his father do this as well. They mean to give him time, give him space while they are bursting with worry on the inside. He watches as she places the dinner in a container, her spine a tense line. Jordan sucks almost just as much. His lips are twisted in the painful imitation of a smile whenever Stiles glances in his direction. He’s so busy pretending that he forgets who he deals with. It’s a little pathetic, to be honest.

Theo makes it almost impossible to read him. He smirks, hangs around and behaves like his normal self. It’s only when Stiles announces that he wants to sleep that he breaks character by asking if he can play video games. Theo is a teenager, for sure, but it’s kind of counter-intuitive to ask that if the person going to bed can be distracted by the most mundane fucking thing like headlights poking into his room from between his curtains. But Stiles agrees because for some reason he takes that over being alone; there are methods to prevent staying awake for too long. So, he excuses himself and goes to the bathroom, takes two sleeping pills. Nobody needs to hear about it, nobody needs to know. It’s just this once. One night of proper sleep. One night without dark thoughts or nightmares. Twelve hours of nothing. Imagining that alone has him almost more excited than the prospect of his father coming home tomorrow morning. Fucking hell. His head is a terrible place.

Theo sleeps sitting upright in front of his bed which is as ridiculous as adorable. Stiles doesn’t need a babysitter. But even after his father came back home, Theo refuses to leave. Lydia and Jordan join the club, acting as if Stiles and his father can’t deal on their own, acting like Stiles hasn’t helped his father trough worse. Melissa, as well as Lydia, come over with dinner almost every evening, most likely because nobody wants to put his father through Stiles’ moods with a concussion, and nobody can bank on Theo to make sure he eats properly since his only response is ‘ _well, if he isn’t hungry?_ ’. Lydia snapped after the third day during lunch. Theo hardly minded. A reaction nobody was that surprised by.

Stiles knows the people helping them mean well. He is aware he probably scared the living crap out of them when he lost his shit at the hospital, when he went into such a panic that only sedation worked to calm him down. It’s still exhausting, to put it lightly. They became a family of four or five all of the sudden; with Theo not going home at all. Even his father gave up trying to shoo him away. Instead, he told him to get a mattress into Stiles' bedroom, not next to the bed but on the opposite side on the room. Of course. Stiles could’ve sworn he heard an _‘if I see you in my son's bed_ _once_ ’ threat when he came down the stairs one morning. When he entered the kitchen, however, they both ate their breakfast in peaceful silence.

The night the sleeping pills magically vanished from the bathroom, Stiles moves across the room with his pillow and blanket and curls into a ball on Theo’s mattress. His slow and steady breathing drives him mad – and it gets even worse when he suddenly doesn’t hear it any longer. _He’s gone. He left. He’s dead_. Albeit knowing how ridiculous these thoughts are, they come back to haunt him every single time. When Stiles lies next to Theo, he can definitively hear him breathe or at the very least feel every single movement. Also, having someone close who cares, who wants to make sure that he’s okay, makes him feel all kind of things. Mostly good, also really guilty because this mattress can’t exactly be described as an upgrade to the floor. It’s so fucking old. Theo doesn’t complain, though. Still, Stiles really wonders why he's never asked to sleep in his bed. It’s not like he would’ve said no, and it’s hard to believe his father’s potential threat turned him away since threatening Theo usually leads to nothing.

The mattress moves when Theo turns around. For two a.m. he sounds considerably awake when he says, “I thought we weren’t allowed to share a bed.”

Stiles bites back a smile even though Theo can’t possibly see it. After all, he is facing the other way. For good reason. There’s an itch in his fingers, a barely noticeable tug in his muscles trying to make him reach out, to make him touch. He craves Theo’s warmth against his palm, stubble against his skin, lips brushing, a mouth covering his. He craves hands roaming his body, fingernails biting into his skin. He craves hot breath whispering over his skin, teeth at his neck.

He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t reach out, doesn’t step over the barrier to satisfy a desire he wants as much as he’s afraid of it. “Technically you’re not allowed in _my_ bed. Dad never said anything about this.”

“Oh." Theo doesn’t say anything else for some time, his silence heavy in the air. For one terribly long second, Stiles chokes on fear, on the horrible thought that he overstepped some boundaries. His heart hammers against his ribs. He curls his fingers into the sheets, squeezes his eyes shut when a fist tightens around his heart.

Theo chuckles, “don’t worry, I don’t bite.” He pauses, hums as if to contemplate what to say next. “Much.”

Stiles snorts, fingers loosening around the sheets. One by one. “Idiot.”

Theo curls an arm around Stiles' shoulders and moves closer, settles against his back. Although he wants it – he walked over to sleep on the same mattress as Theo, after all – Stiles can feel his body go rigid. He grinds his teeth, waiting for Theo to hold on even tighter, to misinterpret the signals like Malia always did. He doesn’t, instead lets go of his shoulders and drapes his arm loosely over Stiles' waist, fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket. “This okay?”

His eyes fly open, and Stiles stares into the darkness of his bedroom for a few silent seconds. His heart still pounds as if he’s run a marathon, but his body slowly relaxes, eases into blankets safely separating him from too much contact. Theo doesn’t hold on to him for dear life either. That helps too, although it doesn’t stop Stiles from wanting it all and being terrified of a reality in which it happens. Theo would move if Stiles told him he doesn’t feel comfortable; he’d leave him alone if he asked him to even though Stiles is the one crawling onto his mattress. The thing is, he feels comfortable, he doesn’t want Theo to move away.

“Yes,” he whispers eventually, “yes, it’s okay.”

It turns into a routine. Theo never comes into his bed. He lets Stiles make the decision, and aside from two nights in a row – after which he doesn’t make it  out of bed in the first place – he always goes to Theo, who always asks if he’s comfortable, who never does anything Stiles hasn’t initiated, who always wakes him before his father comes into the room to find them like this. Out of all the people, he chooses to seek Theo's comfort, to hold him, to keep him from falling apart. It’s not as bad by day but when night falls, darkness creeps into every pore of his body, into every part of his mind. Theo has saved him before. He surely would save him now.

When the second week is almost over and his father cleared from imminent danger, people still came over with dinner. Stiles has never been so restless and exhausted at the same fucking time. His father keeps a close eye on him, makes sure Stiles takes his Adderall and gets enough sleep. It’s fucking stupid. He hasn’t been sent to bed since he was eight. Neither the pills nor the attempt at a routine help much. He’s restless and agitated and everything fucking _sucks_. He feels pumped up and spat out, like his body tries to sort itself out, as if it’s trying to find some sort of middle ground, trying to untangle this mess of feelings.

The attempted murder on his father kicked something loose inside him, something that was buried deep. Stiles is aware of it, has been for a while now. His dad noticed, and it seemed like Theo and Lydia did as well. Everyone waits for the Damocles sword to finally drop. Everyone waits for something to happen. Everyone waits for Stiles to lose it, to fall into that pit of darkness always creeping about.

Stiles can’t blame them. He does as well, and yet, unexpectedly, he starts feeling better as the days go by. In fact, he feels so good he goes out with Theo and Brett on a Friday. His father wasn’t happy, but Stiles promised to behave, that he'll be back by twelve and, of course, they did not mention a party, so he let him go; Melissa probably helped a little by putting a calming hand on his father’s thigh throughout the conversation. Stiles really hopes these two to get their shit together soon. Watching them dance around each other is getting exhausting.

Although it’s obvious why they hesitate with the last step. Starting to date while their sons have a giant fallout is probably not the best foundation for any form of relationship. Stiles despises himself for standing in the way of his father’s happiness. He would never make things hard for them or complicated or shit all over their feelings because of Scott – it’s the only thing, Stiles is sure, Scott and he can agree on right now.

But it’s not his decision to make. If they want to go slow, he won’t push them.

Brett picks them up at seven and drives them halfway across town. One of his mates throws a party at his parent-free house. Stiles barely knows anybody aside from Lucas, Brett’s best friend and vice-captain of the Devenford Prep. lacrosse team. Nice but very quiet. Hard to imagine how they got friends. Either way, they mingled a little at first before wandering off to the backyard and slowly worked their way towards the main topic of the evening: Theo’s opinion on having an actual pack. It’s fun for the whole family.

Stiles has spent the last hour helping Brett awkwardly make joining the Ito pack sound attractive to Theo. Lori was right. Her brother _sucked_ at having serious conversations. Holy _crap_. It’s like he’s never been on any official pack businesses before. Maybe he hasn’t. Stiles wouldn’t put it past him to gallantly talk himself out of everything sounding even marginally boring.

It’s not particularly surprising that Theo declines the offer from the get-go. Stiles expected the answer, and even Brett didn’t look as if he had anticipated a positive reaction.

“Maybe you should get to know them a little better before you make a decision.” Stiles props his chin on the palm of his hand.

Theo remains scowling. “No.”

“Okay, but hear me-"

“I said no,” Theo interrupts Brett with a snarl. His knuckles turn white as he curls them around the beer bottle.  

Stiles runs his fingers through his hair, eyes following a girl passing their table. “How about we hang out with them?” His attention shifts back to Theo, and he gestures towards Brett, who rolls his shoulders with a frown. “You can get to know the others.” Pressuring Theo into things is as useful as throwing a ball against a wall. A lot of tact is needed for this to go over without everybody being completely frustrated at the end of the discussion. “So, you base your decision on something else than petulance.”

Theo wets his lips, narrows his eyes. It’s not that Stiles wants to push him into the next best pack. In all honesty, he doesn’t mind Theo declining the offer. Part of him wants to be the only person capable of convincing Theo not to do the stupid thing. He really wants to be the person Theo listens to, he comes to whenever. But Stiles isn’t naive. Theo is a chimera, sure, but he still is a werewolf too, and a werewolf needs an alpha, needs a pack. That’s called nature. Theo _needs_ other werewolves around him. Stiles can’t give him that. Stiles cannot replace a proper pack. Both Liam and Hayden will have to face the same decision as well; force Scott into talking to them, into working on their relationship or go looking for a different pack. Sooner or later, it has to happen. Stiles is pretty sure this is one of those things that are better done quickly. Tear the bandage off. Get it over with.

So, no. Stiles doesn’t like Theo going to another alpha, finding a place in a pack that’s not his. But he has to be reasonable. This is good for Theo, and it doesn’t mean he leaves. He won’t suddenly switch schools. He won’t suddenly move out of town. He won’t suddenly be a stranger, won’t be the one that got away. There is no fucking reason to be an idiot about it. Having Theo find footing in a pack, in something normal, something functional, all of it will help him recover. It’s part of what he needs to do; so, Stiles has to stop being a selfish, unreasonable asshole.

“If that’s what you want.” Theo shrugs.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles down the rest of his beer. What kind of fucking response is that? _If that’s what you want_. Fucking hell. Since when is Theo backing down so easily? Yes, usually, he does agree with Stiles – if it lines up with his own interests. Granted, their interests have aligned a lot in the past seeing that they both tried to stay out of prison after murdering someone. People seem to ignore that. Just like they misread Theo deciding to let Stiles take the lead. He didn’t. He fucking blackmailed him. Sure, Theo also worked his ass off to keep Stiles alive.

But _this_? This sad excuse of a response?

Stiles gets to his feet. “I need another drink.”

 

Getting a drink turned into a twenty-seven-minute call during which Lydia reminded him passive-aggressively that he was supposed to be driving to LA with her in a few hours to pick up Jackson and Danny. He apologised for forgetting, and after he explained that Brett and he decided to go to a party of all places to talk to Theo in an attempt to make the conversation more casual, she quieted down, apologised for snapping at him and asked if he’ll swing by tomorrow evening. Stiles promised he will, although Danny and Jackson aren’t exactly people, he has any desire to hang out with. The thing is, Stiles can tell how much Lydia wants Jackson and him to get along. Despite his move to London, and despite both of them dating other people – Jackson apparently dated two guys, go figure – they are both still hung up on each other. She grew up and became less of a bitch. Hopefully the same goes for Jackson.

Stiles walks back with a cup of god knows what – the guy pushing it into his hand promised it’s delicious – checking his phone. He has two missed calls from Scott and four messages on top of that. Seeing the guy’s name on his phone stirs equal amounts of panic and anger inside of him. Which is really not the best thing on top of alcohol. Luckily, his brain has not completely surrendered to the drug yet. If something happened to his father, Melissa would’ve called him. After all, she’s currently with his dad. The only thing he can hope for at this point is that something happened between them.

He stops, frowns. _Oh_ , that’s an image he didn’t ask for.

Shaking his head, Stiles opens the chat.

_> > Pick up the phone._

_> > Please. We have to talk. _

_> > Pick up. It’s about Theo. _

_> > It’s important. Call me. _

Like hell, Stiles will call him back. Whatever Scott thinks Theo has done, he certainly didn’t do. They’ve been together for the last two weeks. Every single day. Not every single minute but when Theo wasn’t with him, he was hanging around his dad or someone else from the pack. This conversation does absolutely not need to happen. At all. Even less tonight when he’s trying his hardest to ignore how much he doesn’t want Theo to join Satomi’s pack while acting like it’s a wonderful idea.

Seriously, if there’s an empath around who can read his emotions, he sincerely apologises for the mess.

“There you are.” Brett appears next to him, takes the cup out of his hand and sniff it. He really _sniffs_ it. _Fucking werewolves_. Stiles can’t emphasise that enough. “Do you smoke?” Brett conjures a joint out of his jacket. “I mean with the Adderall-"

Stiles snatches the weed and his drink out of Brett’s hands and walks towards the backyard. “Stop fucking sniffing me.” Seriously. Werewolves need to stop that. It’s getting annoying. He’s not a fucking air freshener. They don’t have to monitor him either. He’s perfectly fine. He feels _great_ , and that’s not just the buzz speaking. Not at all.

They slip outside passing two girls who obviously think the only place to be is _directly_ in front of the door. Some people seriously struggle with their last surviving brain cells. It’s a godforsaken tragedy.

Brett pushes him towards an empty windowsill. “I smelled the pills in your room,” he says sitting down.

“What?” Stiles furrows his brows.

“I said-”

“No, I heard you. I just-” He waves his hands dismissively and looks around the backyard chewing on his bottom lip. _Great_. Just great. Seriously, can his brain for once- “Oh! Wait-” Stiles spins back around, the drink almost sloshing all over his fingers. “You can’t smell Adderall on me?” But didn’t Theo say he could? And where is the guy anyway? He’s still here, that much Stiles knows. Where, tho? Furrowing his brows, he looks up and to the left and finds him right of the bat.

Theo leans against the post of the lacrosse goal and talks to a girl. She’s almost as tall as he is, long legs in a short skirt, dark red hair falling in loose curls over her shoulders and back. When her fingers tug playfully at his suspenders, Stiles’ stomach contorts painfully. Theo looks up. He looks at him like he knows, and his lips curl into a lazy smirk when he meets his gaze.

Brett takes the joint from him. “No, I can’t.”

Stiles blinks. “What?”

“I said-”

“I heard you,” Stiles snaps wrenching his gaze away from Theo. He closes his eyes, runs a hand over his face, then flops onto the windowsill next to Brett. “Sorry. I just-”

Brett flicks the lighter on. “It’s okay.” And he really does look unbothered by it, but Stiles knows how much it can suck when a conversation gets constantly derailed by someone asking _what_. Some people think he doesn’t listen to them. Others think he’s just winning time for a fitting answer. Sometimes people get the impression he doesn’t care in the slightest. That’s not the point, tho, not at all. But it’s why so many teachers lost their patience with him when he was younger. Because during that time, he had even more trouble processing what people told him.

Stiles bounces his right leg and takes the offered joint. “I’m listening to you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, Brett, I _mean_ it. I am listening. Sometimes I just, I don’t know.” Stiles looks at him, catches his eyes almost pleadingly. “Like, I heard what you said but my brain just-”

“Needs a moment to process it.” Brett takes the drink out of Stiles’ hand and sips on it, pulls a disgusted face and puts it down next to him. Lucas’ drinks should be avoided. Duly noted. “I was the ass in the equation.” He wasn’t. Not even a little bit, but Brett continues talking before Stiles has the chance to object. “Why’d you ask if I could smell Adderall on you?”

Stiles twists the joint between his fingers. “Because Theo said he can.” His gaze flicks back to the chimera when he puts the joint between his lips. Theo is already looking back at him, eyebrows slightly raised, smirk firmly in place. It’s like he knows something Stiles doesn’t which makes the situation slightly more disconcerting. He has been away for half an hour at most. How did Theo go from the bratty idiot to _this_? Not to say that Stiles doesn’t like whatever this is. He _really_ doesn’t. Narrowing his eyes, he flicks the ash off and gives the joint back to Brett.

“Want me to tell her to back off?”

 _God, yes, please. Someone take that redhaired chick away from him._ Stiles shakes his head. “No.”

“Okay.” Brett nods, tips his head slightly back as he breathes out smoke. “So, Theo said he can smell Adderall on you?”

“Yeah.”

“How close are you exactly?”

Stiles whips his head around. _What the fuck_? How close is he with _Theo_? They’re not close. They’re not close at all. Okay, _okay_. Sure, they’ve slept on the same mattress for the past two weeks and maybe they were also kind of spooning. Doesn’t mean they are that close. Because Brett sounds like he means something entirely else. He sounds like he means _close close_ and that’s certainly not what they are.

“Jesus fucking- calm down, Stilinski.” Brett pushes the drink back into his hand, and Stiles takes a swig of it. The liquid burns on his tongue and the back of his throat. He coughs, almost spits it out while the disgusting taste of whatever the hell that is crawls through his mouth. _Oh ew_. That’s nauseating. Seriously. “Listen,” Brett continues, pausing until Stiles put the cup somewhere at his feet and turns his attention on him, “either you’re screwing around with the poodle or you're not, I don’t give a fuck.” That sounds _so_ wrong on so many levels. “It’s just... unusual for werewolves outside the pack to know someone’s scent well enough to notice the impact of a medication like Adderall. See, something like that doesn’t have its own scent once it hits your bloodstream. It just messes with your core scent.”

Stiles squints at Brett. That doesn’t make sense? He’s not totally sure, to be honest. “But you know my scent.”

Brett offers him the joint. “I know your scent in so far that I can recognise or find you if need be.” He runs a hand through his hair and leans against the window, long legs stretched out in front of him. Seriously. The guy does have long fucking legs. Stiles never really noticed how much taller Brett is. But he _is_. Oh boy.

“-your original scent, you know?”

Oh- _shit._ Oh, this is awkward.

“I’m sorry?” Stiles grins innocently.

Brett snorts out a laugh but catches on almost immediately. “Imagine a perfume. You can recognise it by scent if you smell it often enough, right?”

Stiles nods. Now that’s probably part of the reason Satomi chose him to be second in command. If he takes the time and is willing, Brett can actually be quite a good teacher. He has the patience and the right ideas to bring an abstract construct to life. After all, Stiles can smell, yes, but not to the extent a werewolf can; he doesn’t have a clue how much scent really affects them and how they perceive the world. Since Scott doesn’t either, and Deaton refuses to give a straight answer to every single question that has ever been directed at him, Stiles is glad someone finally takes the time to help him.

“But you don’t know its core components unless you read the back or pay really close attention to it.” Leaning his head against the glass, Brett watches him and takes the joint from between his fingers.

“How does a werewolf figure out the core components?”

“Scenting,” Brett says smirking. “It requires a werewolf to get up close and personal.”

Stiles’ gaze darts back to Theo, lingers on his mouth for a moment – on the grin and white teeth – then he locks eyes with him again. “How close?” He asks, ignoring the tight fist around his heart as the girl leans forward to whisper something in Theo’s ear. Her fingers still play with his suspenders.

“You know, if you keep staring at him like that, you’re giving him exactly what he wants.”

“Am not.”

Brett scoffs. “Why do you think he’s talking to her in the first place?” He snaps his fingers in front of Stiles’ face, effectively startling him and drawing his attention away. Brett frowns as he draws the smoke into his lungs. “He wants to get under your skin,” he answers his own question, then breathes out. “The wooing doesn’t seem to have worked.”

Stiles snatches the joint huffing indignantly. “He never wooed me.” Sure. He’s been around a lot, and he’s gone from driving by his house every single night to sleeping in his bedroom. Yes, he’s kissed him once. But that doesn't count because that was before Theo showed his true colours. 

“I know you’re sleeping on that mattress with him.”

Stiles licks his lips and puts the joint between them to buy himself some time. When the smoke hits the back of his throat, he falls against the cool glass behind him. He closes his eyes, sighs. It’s not like anyone needs a goddamn degree in psychology to understand why Stiles crawls into Theo’s makeshift bed. Pretty obvious, isn’t it? He breathes out and drops his head against the window, scrutinises Brett’s face. “If he thinks I’ll act out like a jealous, butthurt idiot, he’s wrong,” Stiles says despite the acid cursing through his veins, despite the low burn of anger burning in the pit of his stomach. “I’m not letting his alpha-male attitude bring me down. If he wants something from me, he can damn well come and get it himself.”

Brett mirrors him furrowing his brows. “You could make a move as well.”

“I don’t know if you know this but it’s a two-way street.”

“You sound like my sister.”

“I’m just _saying_ that I’ve initiated everything for the past two weeks.” Stiles waves his hand around dismissively. “He used to be pretty vocal about what he wants and if he wants to kiss someone else, then _please_ , I’m not holding him back. But I’m not crawling over to him begging for his attention.” Yes, it’ll hurt. Fucking hell, it’s going to hurt quite a bit when he has to face the fact that he’s read everything wrong. He hasn’t. He _knows_ he hasn’t. That still doesn’t mean Theo’s making his move. Unless he’s been- no. No. Theo can’t play him. He’s not that good. “I have some dignity left.” It might not be a lot, but it exists goddamnit.

Brett lets out a breath. “We need to get rid of that dignity.” He wiggles his brows, and Stiles laughs. “I get us something to drink.” Without waiting for a reply, Brett pats his leg and gracefully hops to his feet. He fucking _hops_ , Stiles can’t believe he’s seeing this. Well, he can’t believe a lot of things if he’s fully honest. Telling Brett all that he just told him? That’s something he planned to keep buried, that’s something he would’ve told Scott or Lydia. But he told Brett. He’s at a party with Brett, at a party where ninety-eight percent of the people are complete strangers, and he basically told him ‘hey, I think I like Theo a lot more than I’m supposed to, and I need him to show me he reciprocates, or this isn’t going to go anywhere’.

It’s probably the alcohol. And the joint. Or both. Both is also a valid option. Or maybe, just maybe, he feels comfortable talking about this with Brett because Stiles knows he won’t judge. Brett was raised as a werewolf, but he was also raised as a free and open-minded spirit thanks to Satomi. Of course, he holds grudges like every teenager does. Stiles holds grudges all the time. It’s human and humans suck. Then again. So do werewolves. Everyone sucks. People suck. Things that breathe suck. Wait, no. That’s a bit much of a generalisation. Dogs don’t suck. Dogs are good boys. And girls. Good dogs. He should get a dog. Dogs recognise werewolves. It’s like an early warning system.

Stiles pulls out his phone, joint pressed between his lips. He’s so getting a dog. Why did he never think of that before? Tomorrow. He’s going to find a shelter and-

“Hey.”

Stiles blinks and looks up. “Hey.”

Theo sits down next to him. “What are you doing?”

“Huh?”

With a smirk, Theo takes the joint from between Stiles’ lips and places it between his own. “You looked focused on something on your phone.” He tilts his head back when he breathes out, and Stiles’ gaze locks onto the side of his face. Theo had a really nice profile and neck and jawline. He has a very strong jawline. Good fucking god, Theo has no right to be that handsome. But he is. And Stiles could have that. He totally could. He just has to- he just has to lean over and go for it.

Stiles clears his throat. “Nothing particularly interesting.” He locks his display, grins.

Theo wets his lips and turns his head to face him. “Really?”

When they lock eyes, it’s like someone shoves him into a bubble. The quiet bass and conversations drown in the rush of adrenaline, the beating of his heart and the sound of his breath. Nothing exists in this bubble. Nothing aside from him and Theo. Stiles swallows, nods and his eyes roam over Theo’s face. His mouth. His eyes. His nose. Back to his mouth. Up to his eyes. Down to his lips. Breath hitches in his throat when the grin falls away. He looks back up, but Theo doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s staring at his mouth as well. Oh god. _Oh god_. This is happening. It is. Right? It’s happening. His heart slams into his throat, and his eyes drop back to Theo's mouth. He wets his lips, swallows nervously.

Theo leans his forehead against his, and Stiles picks up a very quiet, almost nervous chuckle. A hand comes up to cup his cheek. Warmth spreads everywhere. His face, throat, chest, but his lips are cold. They tingle, and he licks them again while his hands curl tightly around his phone. Stiles closes his eyes when their noses brush. He can smell Theo’s aftershave, can smell beer on his breath. For a second, he swears he can hear Theo swallow as well, can hear his heart hammer against his chest.

After a moment of nothing, of stagnation, of hesitation, Theo finally tilts his to reach his mouth. They are going to kiss. They are going to _kiss._ They are-

His phone goes off in his lap. Stiles flinches, bangs his elbow on the window and sends his phone flying. “Shit. Shit. _Shit_.” Fucking hell. Fuck everything. Stiles rubs his arm, avoids Theo’s questioning glance. His gaze is palpable on the side of his face, his cheek, throat. The music and laughter crash back over him. He gets up, grabs his still ringing phone. “Oh fuck.” His heart jumps into his throat for a completely different reason.

“What?” Theo asks grabbing his arm.

Stiles shows him the display. “It’s Dad.” He swallows, shudders as his blood runs cold. “I missed curfew.”

 

“It’s my fault.”

If anybody asked Stiles how he manoeuvred himself into this situation, he wouldn’t be able to give a proper answer. Between his father’s call, and the flimsy excuse of ‘I can explain _everything_ ’ to standing in his living room in a Devenford Prep jersey as well as too big sweatpants with Theo next to and Brett in front of him trying his hardest to take the blame away from Stiles, a lot has happened. His hair is a mess, and he’s holding the bag with his wet clothes in front of his chest like a protective shield.

His father is seething with anger. “I told you to be back-“

“Sheriff, Sir-“ Brett narrowly avoids a full-body flinch when the attention of Stiles’ father shifts onto him- “with all due respect, but Stiles doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

Melissa puts a hand on his dad’s shoulder. “John,” she says in a calm voice before nodding at Brett to continue.

“We were hanging out by the lake.” Brett puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans, straightens his shoulders. “A few of my teammates came around shortly before we had to leave, and they were bitching about me bringing the enemy with me.” He shrugs, glances briefly at Stiles who decided to nod along to his words then and again, looking like he isn’t hearing the words for the first time. “Stiles tried to calm the situation and ended up inside the lake.” That’s a story and a half. It even makes fucking _sense_. Since the scent of weed clearly clung to him and they had zero time to get rid of it, Brett dragged his ass to the bathroom, sprayed him off in the shower, drove to his house two streets away and threw clothes at his face. Theo ordered him to drink a glass of milk and brush his teeth. _Just in case_. Honestly, Stiles is almost offended how well these two can cover up the shit they’re doing. Theo is good but with his cover blown people look at everything he says twice. Brett, on the other hand, is next level. No wonder he gets away with all the stunts he’s pulled over the years.

His father narrows his eyes. “And your phone survived that?”

 _Oh shit_.

Brett looks at him again, and Stiles can see he’s frantically searching for an out when Theo raises a hand. “I had his phone.”

“You?”

Theo clears his throat. “Scott kept calling and messaging him, so Stiles gave his phone to me.”

Melissa purses her lips and looks out the window, understandably displeased with Theo speaking out against her son. Stiles can tell she has a lot to say about it, but his father waves his hand around. “Brett, go home. Stiles, bed.” He points in the direction of the stairs.

Stiles waves and Brett briefly nods, then hurries out of the front door like he can’t get out fast enough. He wouldn’t be the first werewolf with immense respect for the sheriff. Also, it’s probably a bad idea to piss off the head of the Beacon County police department. So, there’s that. Being the sheriff’s kid really can be a fucking workout.

 

They undressed in silence and ventured into their separate beds. Despite having almost kissed a couple of hours ago, Stiles doesn’t have the courage to crawl into Theo's bed. He doesn’t know why. His thoughts are racing, screaming, tumbling over each other in a desperate attempt to be the one that's heard over the ruckus of the rest. Sleep doesn’t come. Not even a little. He’s wide awake with the undeniable urge to do something. Clear out his wardrobe, for example. The clean look had something going for it. Stiles is amazed he still owns the skinny jeans seeing that he hasn’t worn it for a while. Maybe he should go for that. A change in style can never hurt. No logos. No plaid shirts. Well. He probably needs to go shopping then.

But that comes later.

As quietly as possible, Stiles gets up and pads toward his dresser. He clicks on the flashlight and props his phone against the foot of his bed. One by one, he pulls the drawers out of his dresser, drops the contents on the floor and sits down. Now, to go through his shit. Turns out, he doesn’t have that many pants. Two pair of jeans, one of them is downstairs in the laundry, and a few other pants. Stiles frowns at the number of t-shirts he has. Ninety-percent of them have some sort of print. Those can go. He grew out of that phase. The hoodies, he’ll keep. Not the one the nogitsune wore. He can’t stand that red line.

Means he’ll go shopping then. Tomorrow. Today. It’s almost two a.m. after all. He could call Lydia. She’s always down for things like that.

Stiles scratches the side of his nose. Cool. T-shirts down. Hoodies too. Now to go through his plaid shirts. There’s a lot of them too. Jesus fucking Christ. Why does he own so many plaid shirts? Who needs that many plaid shirts? He needs to get rid of at least half of them. But where’s he gonna put his stuff? Throw it away? Donate it? He could sell it. No. No. Donating sounds great. He’s probably got other shit he could sell. He’s got _a ton_ of shit he can get rid of. Maybe he should declutter his whole room. Books and movies and video games. Although he’s gotta stock up on new ones.

Frowning, Stiles grabs his phone and gets to his feet, steps over the mountain of clothes to stand in front of the shelf next to his door. Ok, so… he misses a few Marvel movies still. That’s going to go on the list. The Resident Evil movies are a guilty pleasure. They suck, though. He pulls the four movies out of the shelf and tosses them on his bed. They land on the mattress with a clatter, one goes flying to the floor. Star Wars stays. Obviously. As does Lord of the Rings. His eyes dart over the movie titles. _Oh_ , he so needs to watch Alien. He hasn’t seen the movies in a while.

“Stiles?” Bedding rustles, and Theo groans. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Decluttering,” he says contemplating the Final Destination movies. Keep them or throw them away? “Go back to sleep.”

Theo walks over to him. “At two o’clock in the morning?”

“I’m not tired.”

“So, you clear out your shit?” Theo curls an arm around his waist and props his chin on his shoulder. He’s warm against his back. “You’re one of the exhausting drunks, huh?”

Stiles pokes his forehead. “I’m not drunk.”

“Of course not.” Theo scoffs and tips his head to the side, watches him quietly. Silence follows his words. Not particularly heavy but noticeable enough to drag Stiles’ attention away from the movies in front of him.

He furrows his brows. “What?”

With a chuckle, Theo moves to stand in front of him. “I was just thinking,” he says with a small smirk on his lips, “how I probably should’ve kissed you earlier.” The words hang in the air, snatch his breath and make his knees feel like medium-hard jelly which does not contribute to standing upright at all.

Stiles wets his lips. “Wanna-“ he clears his throat, shifts his weight nervously- “wanna make up for that missed opportunity? I mean, maybe we should, like, try that… just for-“

Theo pulls him closer by his hips, leans up and presses his lips to the corner of his mouth. “Okay?” He asks, waits until Stiles nods slowly, a little confused. He thought Theo would go in for the kiss, would go- Theo brushes their mouths together, slow, without any rush, like he has all the time in the world. Stiles shifts closer after Theo pulled away again, irritated by this behaviour.

“I swear to-"

“Still okay?” Theo interrupts him with a patience that can’t be fucking real. Seriously. _How_ does he do it? Why is he that way?

Stiles tosses his phone in the general direction of his bed. “More than okay,” he says cupping his neck with both hands and presses their mouths together. Without much finesse, a lot of urgency and _for real_. No fucking teasing any longer. Stiles hums and wraps his arms around Theo's shoulders. That’s nice. _Really nice_. Something inside him tears, uncoils and lets a warm and fuzzy feeling loose that quickly spreads through his whole body, curls around every single inch of his skin until it's like he’s wrapped up in cotton wool.

Theo pulls him impossibly closer, fingers slipping underneath his tee, pressing into the small of his back. A tongue glides over his lips, pokes his bottom lip once. The smile is palpable when Stiles opens his mouth. He moans in the back of his throat because _finally_ , because it feels amazing, because he wanted this so badly for longer than he probably realised. His heart beats fast, one of his hands finds the back of Theo's head. The short strands confuse him for a brief second. He’s too used to long hair between his fingers. Then Theo's tongue is in his mouth, and Stiles can’t help but notice the awful peppermint toothpaste he uses.

He pulls back, covering his mouth with a hand trying his best to stifle a laugh. Of _fucking_ course, something superficial like that would throw him off. At this point, he shouldn’t even be surprised by it.

“What?” Theo pinches his side, and Stiles jolts in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers through his fingers. His cheeks are probably red from the effort to stay silent. The last thing he needs is to wake up his father.

“ _What_?” Theo repeats prying Stiles’ hands away from his face. “Why are you laughing?” Despite opting for a scowl, the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth is all too visible. He doesn’t even sound offended or irritated, just amused.

Stiles leans down, pecks his lips, once, twice, then grins. “Your toothpaste is disgusting,” he mumbles and kisses him again.

“Oh really?” Theo asks pulling back. “Maybe I should stop kissing you then.”

“Nooo,” Stiles whines, wiggles his hands until Theo lets go of them. Instantly, he wraps his arms around his shoulders again to keep him close, bumps his nose with a grin. That’s better. That’s a lot better. “Just use different toothpaste next time.” Brushing their noses together, Stiles leans his forehead against Theo's, unable to stop this buzzing in his body; and he can’t stop grinning. This is good. He feels _really fucking_ good. Better than he has in a very long time.

Theo shakes his head. “One kiss and you start bossing me around?”

“Second kiss,” Stiles corrects brushing his fingers through Theo’s hair. “It’s also not my fault you listen to everything I say.” Not everything, obviously. He told him to go back to sleep after all. Theo definitively did not follow through with that instruction. Which is good, in retrospect. The toothpaste is manageable. Probably.

“I don’t count that as a kiss.”

Stiles quirks his brows. “That very much was a kiss.”

“You didn’t reciprocate.”

“That doesn’t make it any less a kiss. Also, you were _blackmailing_ me? Can you blame-“

Theo crashes their mouths together; an interruption Stiles is perfectly fine with. It doesn’t really matter anyway. What matters is that they’re kissing now – and _holy hell_ , Theo does not hold back. He tugs at Stiles’ bottom lip with his teeth, growls quietly in the back of his throat. Although there’s barely any distance between them, they somehow manage to shuffle even closer together, to occupy each other’s spaces completely.

Stiles feels almost light-headed when he parts his lips and Theo’s tongue darts into his mouth. The kiss is a lot more urgent now. Stiles may be the one who steps back, who leads them away from the door and towards his bed, but it feels as if Theo controls everything that happens. He sets the pace, the intensity – he finally takes what he wants, finally does what Stiles wanted him to do in the first place.

The arms around his waist hold him upright when Theo suddenly changes direction and leads him towards the mattress, away from the bed. They stumble their way across the room – Stiles stumbles, Theo walks, _of course_ – and eventually end up in the mess of bedding. His heart doesn’t slow down. The hot fuzzy feeling doesn’t ease up. He curls his fingers into the short strands of Theo’s air when he slips between his legs without any hesitation. It’s the sort of confidence Stiles finds attractive as fuck. Theo acts like they are doing this for months, like this is nothing new, like he belongs right where he is.

It takes no time for them to fall in sync once they are starting to move against each other. Urgent. Desperate. Needy. Stiles spreads his legs further, snakes his free arm around Theo’s waist to keep him as close as possible. With a quiet groan, Theo lets go of his waist and props himself onto his arms next to Stiles’ head. For a while, they forget how kissing works. Their lips are inches apart, and their breaths mingle while they are too busy grinding against each other until the first hunger is sated.

Holy fucking _shit_.

He needs to- he needs to get rid of his fucking clothes. Stiles wriggles underneath Theo and tries to get grab the collar of his shirt. The fabric sticks to his back anyway. Fewer clothes also mean more skin on skin contact, and that’s really something he craves right now. His mouth, his skin, his hands. More Theo. More everything. The specifics really don’t matter at this point. He just wants, craves, _needs_.

“Words, Stiles,” Theo whispers against his lips before backing off to give him more space.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Stiles grins, leans up just enough to yank the shirt over his head. He uses his position to kiss Theo again while dropping his shirt somewhere next to the mattress. Tidying can wait until fuck knows when.

Theo grabs Stiles’ hips and pushes him back down, laughs softly against his lips. For a moment, he actually considers complaining about the lack of friction, but Theo has already moved on to his throat, effectively distracting him by sucking skin between his teeth. Stiles arches into him, mouth falling open in a silent moan. He has half the mind to run his fingers over Theo’s back, up to his neck and back down again. He doesn’t actually know _what_ to do with his hands other than mimic Theo and explore his body. This is farther than he’s gone before, farther than he thought he could go.

And he really thought it’s okay.

He really thought he is fine this time because everything feels right, everything feels okay - until Theo’s hand brushes over the scar on his abdomen. He barely seems to notice or pays attention to it. His hand merely passes by to find its place on Stiles’ side. The touch doesn’t last longer than a second. It shouldn’t bother him. But the hot fuzzy feeling turns cold all of the sudden. Despite knowing it won’t happen, Stiles hopes it’ll go away, it’ll pass just like that. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to focus on Theo’s mouth on his throat, on the hands on his body he still doesn’t feel right in, on the fact that he can feel how turned on Theo is.

It’s not helping. Nothing feels right. This isn’t right. It’s wrong. The touch that felt so good now makes him flinch. It’s _not right_. Nothing about this is right, no matter how much he wants it to - and there’s no hiding it either.

Theo pulls away almost immediately. “I’m-“

“No,” Stiles interrupts shaking his head. “It’s not- it’s not you.” _It’s me_. He’d laugh at the irony of the statement if it weren’t so true. Because it’s on him, only on him. Maybe he should’ve told Theo beforehand that something like this is in the realm of possibilities. It’s not like he didn’t know it could happen. He did. It happened before. With Malia the onset happened way earlier, though, almost immediately after she made the smallest hint towards sex. Since it didn’t happen with Theo, Stiles naively thought he’s over it.

“What happened? Did I do something?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Stiles sits up and pulls his legs to his chest. “No. No, it’s just- I can’t-“

Theo frowns. “You can’t have sex with me.”

“No. No, god, _fuck._ This has nothing to do with you, I promise.” He awkwardly reaches out and curls his fingers into Theo’s sweatpants. “I want- I want you.” Stiles licks his lips, swallows around the sudden dryness in his throat. “It’s just that I- shut down, I guess.” Stiles shrugs helplessly. There’s no other way to phrase it. Doesn’t matter how weird it sounds. But that’s how it is. Theo touching his scar triggered something. Before that, everything was peachy perfect. After all, it’s not like he has trouble getting it up. Because that happened. Theo could feel that it happened. The rest is the problem. Keeping the thoughts away is the problem.

Theo crawls over and lies down next to him. “Anywhere I shouldn’t touch?”

“What?” Stiles squints at him.

“Well, the kissing was chill, right?” He rolls onto his back, reaches up and traces Stiles' jaw. “I just wanna know." A small smile curls around his lips. Malia tended to roll away from him, but Theo doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t seem to take it personally.

“It doesn’t work like that.” That would be nice. Sure, this time it was the scar. Next time it might be something else. It might be a noise, something Theo says, a random thought crossing his mind. He can’t map it out even though he’d really like to. Stiles glances over his shoulder to find his t-shirt. Good thing he simply dropped it next to the mattress. He pulls it over his head before he lies down next to him. “But yeah-" he cups Theo’s cheek with a small smile- “the kissing was nice.” Grinning, Stiles presses their lips together, closes his eyes.

An arm snakes around his waist, and when Stiles attempts to shift closer, Theo grabs his hips to stop him. “Give me a few seconds here.”

“Wait, I can-"

“No, no, it’s cool.”

Stiles purses his lips. “Let me do this for you.” With Theo not turning away from him – it’s not his fault, after all; it’s not his fucking fault – he really wants to make Theo feel great. Just because his head doesn’t let Stiles go the whole way quite yet, doesn’t mean he can’t give pleasure to someone else. “I want to,” Stiles whispers leaning over to press their mouths together. The tight grip on his hips falls away, and Stiles slips his hand between them, pushes him onto his back. His fingers ghost over Theo’s chest, nails lightly scratching at his skin.

Theo curls an arm around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss. Stiles rolls over for a better angle, chasing the return of the warm fuzzy feeling expanding in his own chest. Maybe, just maybe, he wants to jerk Theo off for his own selfish reasons. Maybe this helps him to get out of his head. Because he wants this intimacy. He really wants it, but he also knows he can’t force himself to go through with it. The least he can do is trying to ease his way into it.

Stiles pulls Theo’s sweatpants and boxers down in one go, trails his fingers along the V-lines, down to the inside of his thighs. Theo lets his legs fall open further, wraps his fingers around the nape of Stiles’ neck, thumb curling to the front, pressing against the underside of Stiles’ jaw to tilt his head for greater access to his mouth. A shudder runs down his spine, and Stiles closes his eyes. Kissing Theo is worryingly addictive. The way his tongue brushes over his lips, his teeth, slides against his own – it brings his thoughts to a screeching stop, makes him feel warm and comfortable, makes him feel right for the moments it happens.

Eventually, Stiles finds it in himself to wrap his fingers around Theo. His dick is a good handful, thicker than his own and around the same length. It’s weird, at first, because of those differences, and the wrong angle and the fact that this isn’t like jacking himself off. He knows what he likes, knows what he gets off on. All he can do right now is assuming that Theo’s tastes are similar, that he doesn’t enjoy the vanilla treatment either. Granted, it’s an oxymoron to be worried about getting hurt because past experiences ended up in unsolicited pain while simultaneously not wanting to be treated like a porcelain doll. It’s a fickle line Malia crossed by leaving scratches and marks all over his body without consent – even in non-sexual situations. Stiles just has to learn that not everybody will cross the same line; he also wants to make sure not to cross such a line with Theo or anybody, really.

Stiles traces the prominent vein, shows his balls a few moments of attention before wrapping his fingers around Theo’s dick again, deciding on a slow rhythm. He has to start somewhere, even if he has to tiptoe his way towards the end goal.

Theo nips at his bottom lip. “You can go harder.”

“Like this?” Stiles tightens his grip a fraction, eyes roaming over his face for answers. He finds a smile and hears a chuckle; not exactly the reactions he hoped for.

“Let me show you.” Theo wraps his fingers around Stiles’ hand and tightens his grip further. “Like this,” he whispers before brushing their lips together again. Just for a moment. Just long enough to pull away before Stiles has the chance to deepen it. “And a bit faster.” Theo never leans away, paints the words against his lips before moving their hands for a few strokes; until Stiles nods and crashes their mouths together again. He can figure out the rest by himself.

Stiles flicks his thumb over the tip, and Theo moans into the kiss loud and unabashed and startling. “Quiet,” Stiles warns, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. Causing such a reaction makes him giddy and excited and so fucking pleased with himself – but if it wakes up his father, it certainly defeats the purpose of what they are doing right now.

Theo pinches his side, and Stiles flinches.

“ _Dude_.”

But Theo uses the hold he has on Stiles’ short strands to pull him into a kiss for about two seconds – after that, it’s heavy breathing and choked-off sounds and hasty open-mouthed kisses to stifle moans. It’s messy, it’s clumsy, but it’s good. Stiles feels more and more heat pool with every stifled moan leaving Theo’s lips, with every shallow thrust he meets his hand with. He can feel his dick twitch against his palm, feels his mouth go slack, sees his eyes flutter shut and Theo suddenly stills without warning, release spilling over Stiles’ fingers and his abdomen.

He presses a quick kiss to Theo’s lips, then lets go of him. Theo does the same, draping one arm over his eyes still breathing heavily. Watching him fills Stiles with a certain sense of pride. He turns away, unable to contain the satisfied grin. Goal achieved. At least regarding Theo. When his gaze drags through his room, he frowns. _Shit_. He’s only halfway into decluttering his room. Not even halfway, actually. Stiles grabs the nearest shirt he can find, cleans his hand and tosses it in the general direction of the hamper. _Huh_. Clothes. That’s probably what he should finish first since he needs to buy new ones.

Before Stiles has even the chance to get up, Theo grabs him around the waist and pins him against the mattress. “What’s the plan here?”

“Decluttering?” Stiles quirks a brow.

Theo drops his head and captures his lips in a lazy kiss, lowering his body until he almost lies on top of him. “Aren’t you even a little tired?”

Quite the opposite. He’s buzzing with energy, and he feels too warm to slip under the sheets, something Theo clearly wants. Stiles can’t blame him, doesn’t want to blame him. “You don’t have to stay up with me, you know?” He won’t mind if Theo decides to let Stiles sort through his belongings alone and go to sleep. The mess on the floor is his own after all. It’s just something he needs to finish before he can even think about sleep.

“And I guess there’s nothing I can do to convince you otherwise?”

Stiles shakes his head.

Theo nips at his jaw, then pulls away. “All right, where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I suck at planning. Sideplots just pop up out of nowhere. But now, I finally feel ready to set the tone for the ending. I promise. I really do. This ends after chapter four.


	4. passionnément

Stiles sighs when Theo nuzzles into his neck, lips and teeth and tongue working on his skin. The hand on his ass pulls him closer, legs tangled as they’re lying on top of the jungle gym. Turns out Theo needs a lot of love when he’s tired as fuck. He tried his hardest not to fall asleep and instead helped Stiles to declutter his shit. Once he flaked out, head dropping onto Stiles’ shoulder. He napped for about five minutes before Stiles tried his hardest to carefully manoeuvre Theo to his mattress without waking him up. Newsflash, it didn’t work. Theo was as much of a light sleeper as Stiles, and he flinched awake the second he was moved.

“Are you sure there isn’t dog DNA inside of you?”

Growling quietly, Theo nips at his skin then licks a stripe from the nape of his neck up to his ear.

Stiles reaches around and shoves him away. “Gross.”

Theo chuckles and kisses him behind the ear. “Want me to hump your leg?”

“No, I don’t.” He’d like Theo to do something completely different, but this is neither the place nor the time for that. They have to be careful anyway. Stiles doesn’t want his father to run in on them. For obvious reasons. After all, he told him not too long ago that dating was so not on his radar – they don’t date let that be known – and since his father practically begged him not to go out with Brett Talbot, Stiles doubts he’ll give his blessings when it comes to Theo Raeken. Not yet, anyway. Maybe never. But even if he does, it’s honestly not particularly surprising that he ends up with another broken person, with someone rash and violent who will get angry about the stupidest things, who will probably bite and snarl and enforce his way with whatever means possible.

But the thing is, he wants that. He wants Theo, and at this point, he wants to get to know him without his medication. He wants Theo to see who he really is. No Adderall. Nothing. Just himself. He’s done with medicine fucking with his head and body without doing what they are supposed to do. The nogitsune took his body away, he doesn’t want the medication to do the same with his mind.

Theo shuffles around, pecks his lips and drapes his arm over Stiles’ shoulder. Blue eyes roam over his face for a few moments. There’s something in his expression Stiles can’t properly place, can’t even imagine getting behind. He gets side-tracked when Theo traces invisible lines on his cheek. It’s a softness that catches him off-guard even though he should have perhaps anticipated it. Theo is a creature of opposites; a pack animal refusing to belong, a killer with the face of an angel, a leader who is ready to become a follower. It’s so odd, so strange, and yet, it kind of makes sense.

A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine. “What are you doing?”

“Connecting your moles.”

Stiles laughs quietly, ignores the warmth in his chest spreading through his whole body. “You’re so weird.”

Theo scrunches up his nose. “I’d call it sleep-deprived.”

“So, you’re only an asshole when you’re wide-awake.”

Grunting something incomprehensible, Theo snuggles closer again and hides his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck. He can feel his lips spread into a grin, tangles their legs and breathes in deep. Crazy how pliable and calm and gentle Theo can be if he wants to. He is so warm and soft against him, with more feelings than Stiles could have ever suspected. It’s nice, really, and very different. Malia hardly cuddled with him. They spooned because Stiles urged her to. At first. Until things became too uncomfortable until things started to feel wrong. His trouble falling asleep and sleeping through the night didn’t start with her, but they didn’t get better with her either. It’s different with Theo. Sure, he hasn’t magically cured his insomnia – nobody can do that – but he feels much more relaxed with him hence why he crawled into his bed. He never sought out Malia. She came through his window and into his bed. Not the other way around.

Theo huffs out a breath. “Scott’s here.”

Stiles blinks in confusion. “What?” He scrunches up his face and rolls onto his back, rubs his eyes like that helps to get his brain to work just a little faster. It doesn’t, and he squints at the cloudy sky until the information clicked. _Oh_. “No. What? Why?” He sits up as well and scoots to the edge of the platform. Sure enough, the door opens and Scott steps into the backyard. _Great_ , that’s exactly what he does not need right now.

“You didn’t call me back.”

Stiles dangles his legs over the edge and nods. “I’m aware, thanks."

Scott stops, shifts his weight from one foot from another for a moment. “I- uh. We have to talk.”

Theo leans back on his elbows watching them silently.

“I don’t have to do anything,” he says, then waves his hand around, “nothing except sleeping, eating, drink- you get the gist.” Stiles crosses his arms. A heavy, uncomfortable silence presses down on Stiles’ chest after the words. He knows he’s in the right, and yet he continues to feel fucking guilty about cutting Scott off. They have been friends ever since their first day of elementary school. They’ve known each other before; they went to the same preschool after all but friends? Friends they’ve become the day Theo moved to Beacon Hills and Heather turned away for a brief minute to greet her friend. Coincidences. If Heather had just talked to him a little longer then Scott would’ve sat down in front of him and Theo would’ve taken the other desk. Isn’t that odd?

But would he really _want_ to erase everything?

Stiles isn’t ashamed to admit that he cried because of how things are now, about what happened; that he cried so much he woke up with red, puffy eyes the next day. He isn’t ashamed to say that he screamed and threw stuff and broke his car window because of Scott. But the thing is, falling apart doesn’t make a sound. It has a stillness to it. Quiet. Dark. It comes at night when you expect it the least. It comes when you can’t fight back, and for a long time, you just exist, wondering where it all went wrong.

When he laid in his bed at night shattered and empty, knowing his father was just down the hall, knowing Lydia waited for him in front of the school the next day, Stiles made the decision to put himself back together again. But he would do it right and he would do it differently.

And when he did, when he mapped out who he wants to become, when he thought about where to start, Stiles learned that he needed to put himself first, that he needed to stop making himself small, making himself bow, making himself follow ideals he never believed in. He also learned that loyalty can be more destructive than honesty. Because those don’t always go hand in hand even though in friendship both are required, loyalty is expected. Honesty, on the other hand, isn’t always appreciated.

Not everything was bad between them. They had a lot of good times but, in retrospect, Stiles has brushed aside a lot of bullshit. He forgave so much that forgiving Scott started to become another way of saying something never happened.

Stiles doesn’t want to give that to Scott this time. Even if they reconcile someday, Stiles will refuse to be the only one who drags this weight around with him. If Stiles deserves to carry this, then Scott does too. He survived this. He survived to fall apart. And as much as he was proud of surviving that, he shouldn’t have to. Nobody should, really. Friendship shouldn’t end like this; especially not one like theirs. It’s just not fair. It’s not _right_. Stiles shouldn’t have to cut one of his closest friends off to protect himself.

Scott clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

“Depends. What do you want to talk about?” Stiles jumps off the platform, feet hitting the ground hard. At least he doesn’t stumble this time. So, there’s that.

Briefly, Scott’s gaze darts in the direction of Theo. _Of course_. “I texted you-“

“I told you I want an explanation first.” Stiles remembers to be abundantly clear about demanding an answer before talking to Scott again. Is that too much to ask for? Is that really so _unreasonable_ that his request is ignored? If he gets an explanation, they’ll have something to work with, they’ll have a basis, a start – they’ll have some common ground. Seriously. He’d take any answer at this point. No matter how stupid. No matter how absolutely, mind-blowingly _dumb_. He takes it all. Whether he accepts it is a completely different story.

Scott nods, but Stiles can tell he doesn’t really care. Whatever he wants to talk about, he deems as far more important. “I know what happened to Gabe.”

“Oh, do you?” Stiles furrows his brows and crosses his arms.

Scott’s eyes widen slightly, his shoulders sag in what looks like relief, and Stiles instantly regrets that he accepted the conversation starter. He should’ve just turned away. But he’s terrible at quitting habits, even if they are bad for him. “Gabe told us what happened to him.”

“Lie.” Theo lands on the ground next to Stiles. His lips curl in a way that made him look like the asshole he used to be. Dangerous, dark, and ready to fuck shit up the second he has the chance.

Stiles licks his lips and turns back to Scott. “Start again.”

“Malia and I went to talk to Gabe.” _There we go_. His dad would’ve mentioned something if Gabe had talked to anybody seeing how furious his mother is because the police can’t find whoever assaulted him. “We asked him a lot of questions and-“

“You asked if I beat him up. He said no and it turned out to be a lie.”

Stiles whips his head around. “Shut _up_.”

Theo shrugs. “Like you didn’t know it was me.” He didn’t _know_ but he always suspected. Some part of him has always been sure Theo attacked Gabe. The timeline fit; first they fought then Theo vanished for a while. Maybe because Stiles told him to get lost. Maybe because he didn’t want to face the music. So, yes. Part of him knew. The bigger part of him wondered why, though. Why attack Gabe? It’s not like Theo can’t handle being insulted. His ego isn’t that fragile.

“He also killed the man who attacked your dad.”

“I did _not_ ,” Theo snarled.

Stiles narrows his eyes, then turns to Scott. “What’s your fucking problem?”

“You believe him?”

“Excuse me?” Stiles isn’t quite sure he heard this right. “When you believed him that’s fine and dandy but when I do that’s wrong? Isn’t that- what’s it called?” He snaps his fingers once, twice and tips his head to the side with a squint. “Oh, _hypocrisy_.” If Scott wants to run all over him, he has to wake up a lot earlier. Stiles is so done with nodding along to his preaching. Sure, he’s called Scott out before but now he’ll dig his heels in as well. He’s done being a pushover.

Scott shakes his head. “That was before he showed his true colours.”

“But _after_ I told you not to trust him.”

Dumbfounded, Scott stares at him. He acts as if it never occurred to him that Stiles has been warning everyone about Theo from the very beginning. Which he had. Multiple times. Even after he was blackmailed. It’s not Stiles' fault they are all idiots. It’s not his fault nobody believed him. Well, _nobody_ isn’t quite right. Liam did at first, and Lydia did too. She didn’t stay away from Theo but she was mindful; until the day he attacked her at the library which couldn’t have been prevented either way.

“Stiles, he killed-"

“I di-"

“You exchanged a dying man’s cancer medicine with mountain ash so he’d reject Derek’s bite,” Stiles spits, nails biting into the palms of his hands. “I’m not even going to start with how fucking _wrong_ that is on so many levels in the first place, okay? I’m just going to repeat; you took away a dying man’s cancer medicine. You also wanted to kill Peter, you let Hayden die, and Josh and Tracy’s blood is on your hands as well.”

Scott takes a step back as if Stiles punched him.

“I haven’t killed the guy,” Theo says drawing both their attention towards him. “I wanted to, but I haven’t.”

Stiles gestures vaguely in his direction. “See? He owns up to his shit. It’s all I want. Own up to your fucking mistakes. No one’s going to castrate you for it.” It’s not going to make everything go away but at least that would be another thing they can start with. Stiles chokes on his own guilt because of so many things he has done, hasn’t done or couldn’t prevent, and Scott just _doesn’t_. He’s throwing the blame back at everyone else.

 _You trusted him too_.

Stiles grinds his teeth and turns away, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Theo's gaze is palpable on his face.

“We don’t kill people.”

 _Here we go again._ Stiles lets out a long breath. Whatever. It’s not going to change anyway, is it? He can hammer his opinion home as long as he wants to, Scott’s just going to deflect, just going to shift the topic over and over again – and then he’ll tell him one wonderfully tragic story how it should’ve been him, how he should have been the one to spill the first blood instead of straight-up telling him why he believed Stiles to be a mindless killer. But it’s a circle, a never-ending cycle of the same bullshit.

And Stiles is tired. He’s too exhausted to repeat this discussion until he might be lucky enough to get a straight answer out of Scott.

“Stiles, please. Theo attacked Gabe. He killed-"

Theo growls. “I didn’t kill him. I tracked him down, but he was dead bef-"

“Shut up,” Stiles interrupts him sharply, and Theo snaps his mouth shut staring at him in surprise. “You don’t have to explain yourself. After all, Scott doesn’t see the need to give an explanation himself.” And that’s literally all he fucking wants. He rubs a hand over his face, presses a thumb to his lips, feels his fingers tremble against his skin. He takes a breath, squeezes his eyes shut. This is fucking useless. Everything is so goddamn useless. He needs to go to bed. He needs to sleep for a week. He needs Scott to leave.

“I think it’s time for you to piss off,” Theo says turning towards Scott.

“If Stiles wants me to leave, he can tell me himself.”

“Go,” Stiles says, glancing at Theo nodding. If Scott refuses to leave, Theo has the permission to drag his sorry ass out of their house. He doesn’t want to deal with this. He doesn’t feel fit enough to deal with anything right now. “I need to be alone for a while.”

Theo nods. “Okay.”

Stiles pulls his shoulders up and turns towards his house. For a brief moment, a childish hope claws up his throat – Scott stopping him, grabbing his arm and telling him what he needs to know, what he wants to know. And he does. He _does_. He grabs him, his fingers tight around his wrist. “Stop walking away.” There’s an edge to his voice, a quiet, almost soundless exasperation. “ _Please_.”

It’s when Stiles snaps. Suddenly. Anger cuts through everything, cuts through all of his rational thoughts. Without any warning. Without any sense. Without any chance to stop. His free hand curls into a fist, nails biting into his skin. Heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears, Stiles spins around. His knuckles connect with Scott’s face. Instantly, bright hot pain shoots through his fingers, his hand and up his arm. The grip around his wrist rips away as Scott goes flying to the ground. It probably hurts Stiles more than it does Scott. No. It most definitively hurts him more. But he doesn’t mind. The pain feels good. It’s almost more satisfying than the trickle of blood underneath Scott’s nose.

“Stiles!” His father's voice gets through the thick cloud of anger surrounding him, and Stiles turns around, watches him hurry across the backyard.

“ _This_ is why I believed him,” Scott says, and Stiles whips his head back around. They stare at each other in silence, his mind reeling, trying to catch up, wondering if he hasn’t heard something that was said before. But Scott continues, an almost bitter edge to his voice, “I believed him because you lash out sometimes. I mean you- you wield your baseball bat. You go after people with it.” Scott gets to his feet. He doesn’t sound apologetic. He sounds as if Stiles has to understand, as if Stiles has to see what he sees, thinks how he thinks. He sounds like he expects Stiles to go _‘shit mate, my fault. I’m sorry I was mad at you._ ’ But he doesn’t. He can’t. Yes, he has made mistakes. Yes, he has problems with his anger. He’s not perfect. Never will be. He’s flawed and damaged and broken to a point where he's so fucking glad about every second he feels good. And he has been feeling good, free, amazing. Scott trampling all over that made him snap. It pissed him off, and he could say _a lot_ about what Scott accuses him off.

Instead, Stiles merely stares at Scott in silence as he continues talking, “you should’ve heard Theo. The way he told it... I thought, I thought you snapped.”

Stiles sucks in a breath. He’s a murderer in Scott’s eyes. A spazz. A _freak._ Fine. Whatever. At least, he knows what his best friend believes who he is and what he's capable of. After everything they’ve gone through, they’ve done for each other, Stiles ended up as the unbalanced variable who’s only good enough to be someone else’s anchor.

A hand falls on his shoulder, holding him tight, grounding him. “And snapping gave me somehow the superpower to kill one supernatural creature while holding off another?” He shakes his head, runs trembling fingers through his hair. Theo has told him exactly what lie he fed Scott. Hearing it makes Scott believing him even worse. “It’s not trust you’re lacking, it’s also common sense. That’s good to know.” Now he's insulting him. How very mature. _Fucking hell_ , Stiles needs to get his shit together, otherwise, he’ll lose his moral high ground entirely.

“I’m just saying-"

“That you’re leaving?” Stiles interrupts coolly, “because that sounds like a magnificent idea. Unless you wanna see me _snap_.”

His father tightens his grip, but Theo lets yellow bleed into his eyes. He snarls, fangs prominent against his bottom lip. His claws come out with a snick. Scott stares at Theo, waits, expects the attack, a reaction but doesn’t seem to make any move to protect himself.  A moment passes. A moment in which Stiles considers allowing it to happen. He takes a breath, deep and long and trembling, and raises a hand. Theo's posture instantly slackens. The yellow fades away, and he tips his head forward in a way that’s almost reminiscent of a servant's bow.

Scott turns, brows furrowed, gaze searching, stripping layers back as if he hopes the answer will somehow be written all over Stiles’ brain.

“I’m sorry I hit you.” He's not sorry that he hit Scott per se. It’s more that he lost his temper. After all this time, he should have himself better under control. But he doesn’t, and that’s what he’s apologising for. “I’m sorry I let it come to a point where you think I’m a mindless murderer. I’m sorry keeping our friendship alive past High School is a joke to you because you clearly don’t care. I’m sorry I spend so much time trying to fit in a place not made for me in spite of your lack of interest.” Stiles takes another breath, much steadier this time and straightens his shoulders. “Thanks for teaching me what’s important in a friendship. Thanks for making me realise that I can’t force people to care. All I’m asking from you in return is to get the hell out of my life and leave me the fuck alone.”

Stiles never thought he would ever say these words out loud. He never thought these words would even cross his mind. Whenever he wondered about the future, Stiles has pictured Scott at his side. But this isn’t happening any longer. There’s an empty space at his side. There will be a Scott-shaped spot following him around, and that’s fine. It’ll make him feel lighter, less weighed-down, less shackled.

“You wanted an answer- you _wanted_ to know-“

“Yeah, I did. But I never said that everything would be okay afterwards.” Stiles folds his arms in front of his chest, runs his hands over his upper arms.

Scott gestures in Theo’s direction. “I’m sorry I believed him. I shouldn’t have left; we should’ve kept talking. You have to believe me.” _Say you believe me. Say it. Say you believe me_. “What can I do to make you believe me?”

“Just- I need- I need time. I need to think.” _Hear myself think. Sort through everything. Figure out whether starting over new is worth the effort._ Stiles closes his eyes. “Don’t worry about me or Theo. I’ll deal with him.” He relaxes his shoulders, runs a hand over his face. “Maybe you should talk to Liam and the others.” This time, when he turns away, Stiles feels less shitty, less like he’s underwater trying to find his way to the surface. He offers a small smile to his dad, who lets go of him with a nod.

Theo yawns into his coffee as he follows Stiles back to the car. His plan of laying down for a moment lasted until his head met the pillow. A second later, Stiles was back on his feet, threw the clothes he didn’t want any longer away and excused himself to go shopping. His dad, utterly confused, sent Theo with money after him. The chimera would’ve followed him regardless but having a bit of extra money clearly doesn’t hurt. A half-asleep Theo, however, isn’t only craving affections, he’s also a moody bitch.

“Next time,” Stiles tells him dropping a large bag with close on the backseat, “I’ll ask Lydia.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask me.”

Stiles slams the door of his jeep shut and turns to look at Theo. “You should get some sleep. I can’t have you being cranky on top of Jackson and Danny.”

“I don’t know why you agreed to hang out with them if you don’t like them.” Theo shakes his paper cup as if to listen for the amount of coffee inside before expertly tossing it into the nearest trashcan at the edge of the parking lot. He hits the target because perfect aim seems to come with being supernatural, apparently. Scott wasn’t able to hit the goal from a two feet distance before Peter bit him.

Stiles crosses his arms. Around him, Theo acts pretty ordinary, as if he has it together, as if he hasn’t been raised by three mad science doctors experimenting on him and other children. Theo’s not really okay. It's little things like this that remind him. “Because it’s important to her and she's important to me, so-" he shrugs and leans against the side of his jeep- “sometimes you gotta do whatcha gotta do.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of the things I wanted you to do, lately,” Stiles reminds Theo with a grin. “Isn’t that kind of the same thing?”

Smirking lazily, Theo steps closer and props himself against the car, caging Stiles in. Their faces are close enough for people to know exactly what kind of relationship they have. Stiles can smell the coffee on Theo’s breath when he leans closer chuckling almost inaudibly. “That's entirely different,” Theo says, tips his head to the side and leans up to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I get something out of it, don’t I?”

Whatever warmth has been spreading in his gut is promptly extinguished by a bucket of ice water. So, _that’s_ what he is for Theo? A treat for good behaviour? Stiles can feel the grin slipping off his lips even though he tries his hardest to prevent it. When Theo leans in for a kiss again, Stiles raises both hands to cup his neck and stop him mid-movement. “We should get home,” he says in a forcefully light voice. It’s hard to keep the dread pooling in his stomach away. _I get something out of it_. What? Handjobs? Someone to hook up with? It’s really fucking convenient Stiles is too broken to want the favour returned, isn’t it?

“Home?” Theo grimaces, eyebrows drawn together.  

Stiles ducks Theo’s left arm. “Yeah, so you can get your much-needed sleep.” The last thing he wants to do is sitting in a car with him right now but he’s not about to leave him standing in the middle of a parking lot miles from Beacon Hills. “Get in.” He nods in the direction of the passenger’s seat, and Theo follows the instruction with a frown. Part of him wants to smooth out the deep lines. The much bigger part of him makes him reach out to turn on the radio after he started the car. For a brief moment, Stiles plays with the dial then turns the volume up.

Theo seems to get the hint because he sinks into his seat staring out of the window.

 

“I’m off to Lydia.” Stiles pokes his head into the living room.

Natalie and his father spin around, clearly startled at his unannounced arrival. Although both have been schooled to maintain a neutral face in even the most heated of situations, they both have obviously forgotten how to do that. He’s heard them talking as he tiptoed down the stairs as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t wake up Theo, but he hasn’t really picked up on their words. But their expressions are clear as day; they’ve been talking about him. _Fantastic._ Or about Theo. Or about Theo and Stiles. Or about something he’s not supposed to know. _Even better_. That’s exactly what he needs to lift his mood after the shitty morning and noon he’s had.

“Alone?” His father manages to ask after a few moments too long.

Stiles raises his phone. “Yes, I can exist without Theo by my side.”

“That’s not what I was implying.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

There’s a clear warning in his father’s voice when he asks, “did you take your Adderall after lunch?”

Tugging at one of the strings of his zip hoodie, Stiles nods slowly. “Sure.” He wonders if the answer is far too short for his usual replies because his dad scrutinises him as if he’s trying to figure out whether he’s lying or not. Well, he is lying. He didn’t take his Adderall this morning either. He’s surprised Theo hasn’t said anything yet. But he feels good. He feels amazing, actually. Okay. Fine. He’s kinda bummed about being an idiot who got too attached too fast. Once again. What can he do? It’s just how it is. Falling too hard in little to no time. That’s one of his more frustrating personality traits. The worst part about it is how obsessed he becomes with the person, how loyal beyond any point of reason. It would be easier to be mad at Theo. Instead, he wants to smack his own head against a wall.

“Good.” His father nods and Natalie smiles even though she has this look on her face; this searching expression Stiles has seen on therapists and his school’s guidance counsellors alike. They will dissect every single movement, every word, every glance hoping to find the answer to whatever they search for. It’s fucking obnoxious.

Stiles juts his thumb in the direction of the door. “Can I go now?” He probably shouldn’t sound like a teenager with mood swings but ever since his father started with his whole ‘you’re not eighteen yet’ charade, he’s gotten severely annoyed by it. When he was younger, he hoped every single day of his life that his father could be home more often, now Stiles can’t wait until Christmas is over, so his dad can go back to work. Ever since he had to stay home because of his injury, he is way too involved in Stiles’ personal life. He never asked where he would go and who he would meet, if he ate or took his medicine. Now, Stiles has to issue a fucking report every single time he leaves the house. Sure, if he didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night, he probably wouldn’t have this problem.

“Are you taking the car?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll use the skateboard. I left Theo a note, tho, he'll come with his truck whenever he’s awake. Do I have any kind of curfew?”

His father shakes his head. “You’re with Lydia.”

Stiles nods. “’kay. See you. Bye Natalie!” He turns to leave only to trip over a travel bag. Cussing audibly, Stiles manages to find hold at the chest of drawers in the hallway. _Jesus fucking Christ_. People need to remember that everything in his way can easily turn into a tripping hazard – and a travel bag of that size is dangerous. How long does Natalie want to stay at her sister’s anyway? This is definitively big enough to last a normal person a whole week.

 _Women_.

 

Stiles slips through the gate into the backyard of the Martin residence. The barbecue is already on, and the clicking of heels accompanies Lydia as she stalks around on the back porch barking orders. He can only assume poor Danny and Jackson are the ones carrying around the table and chairs. She has her boys under control. As she should have. Jackson needs a firm hand. Always has.

Kira waves at him. “Hey, Stiles.”

“Hey.” He drops the skateboard next to the porch. “Can I help?”

“No, no.” Lydia walks over to kiss his cheek, while Jackson and Danny place the chairs around the table. “Where’s Theo?” Although he knows she only asks because he is invited too and everybody is aware that they are currently roomies, it would only make sense they arrive together. The question still irks him for the same reason he’s been annoyed at his father asking him if he’s actually going alone. Theo and he aren’t conjoined twins. They can exist without the other. Crazy, huh?

Stiles offers her a half-hearted shrug. “Probably still asleep. We had a short night.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Danny says holding out his hand while Jackson reduces his greeting to a short nod as he curls his arm around Lydia’s waist. It’s not exactly a possessive or condescending gesture. In fact, there is the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corner of Jackson’s mouth; almost as if he can’t contain how glad he is that he and Lydia sorted their shit out, that he and Lydia could start over new – as long as neither falls back into old habits. Otherwise, they deserve to be whacked over the head with a baseball bat.

Chuckling quietly, Stiles takes Danny’s hand. “Well, I cleared out my wardrobe last night.”

“I thought you were on a party,” Kira says quirking her brows.

“Party?” Jackson asks scrutinising Stiles as if he’s never seen him before. Well, the last time they’ve seen each other he basically wore a pajama and looked as if someone spat him out. His far too oversized sweaters are gone and he fills out his hoodies a bit better than before. A late growth spurt, as well as a bit more enthusiasm for lacrosse, helped a lot. He’s also hardly known as a social butterfly, although he’s never been worried or anxious about talking to people.

Lydia pulls Stiles' red hoodie up to take a better look at the pair of skinny jeans; yes, he went for it, no, he’s not a hundred percent sure if that’s the look he’ll go for in the future. But Lydia nods appreciatively, then smiles at him. If anyone is to be trusted with fashion choices, it’s Lydia Martin. “How did the conversation with Brett go?”

Stiles massages his temple. “As you would’ve expected but-" he waves his hand around- “Theo at least agreed to get to know the Ito pack. So, there’s that.”

Kira worries her bottom lip for a brief moment. “We can’t force him, can we?”

“We can politely manoeuvre him on the correct path,” Lydia corrects with a smirk and beckons them all to sit down. A bottle of white wine stands next to one with red. Someone obviously ransacked their mother’s basement.

Stiles flops onto the chair farthest away from the barbecue. “And by we you mean me.”

Lydia sits down next to him with the most charming smile this side of the universe. As if she needs to charm him. Seriously. “He listens to you best is all I’m saying.”

 _Yeah, because he gets something out of it._ Stiles clenches his jaw and stares in the direction of the pool, watches as light dances on the water's surface. He really doesn’t know what to make of this stupid statement. Did Theo say it because that’s exactly what he meant? Because Stiles is easy, and an idiot and Theo just wanted to prove to himself that he can get into his pants? Or did it just come across this way? Theo isn’t exactly socially gifted. And it’s not like he could’ve had it way easier with that chick he talked to last night. He probably could’ve banged her in any room of his choosing – and that’s a thought he doesn’t like to think about.

Jackson, who sat down next to Lydia, tabs his finger against the plate in front of him. “Okay, so- the Theo we're talking about is the same scrawny, passive-aggressive little loner who-"

“Who rejected your friendship and chose Stiles,” Danny says patting his best friend's arm with fake pity. “It’s time for you to let go of that.” Fucking hell. Stiles totally forgot about that. Jackson has still been bitter about Theo not wanting to be his friend when the Raekens left town. Little Jackson simply couldn’t fathom how Theo, who is so much like him – rich and popular without even trying – chose to surround himself with only _one_ person outside of his family.

Lydia smirks. “Oh, you’ll like him. He grew up nicely.”

Kira hides her giggle behind her hands.

“Okay, now I’m curious,” Danny says leaning back in his chair, “when’s he coming over?”

Stiles shrugs. “When he’s awake, and can we _please_ change the topic? I’m glad I don’t have to see his fucking face for once. I’d rather not talk about him either.” Lydia’s climbing eyebrows are a telltale sign, but Stiles couldn’t care less right now. He doesn’t want to think about it and he doesn’t want to talk about it either; especially because he doesn’t know how to tell her nicely that he jerked-off the guy who almost drove her out of her mind and called her collateral damage. Giving him a second chance probably didn’t initially involve _that_.

Jackson makes a non-committal sound, then says, “so, I heard you made first line?”

Unable to hide his surprise, Stiles turns to look at him. For a brief moment, Jackson offers yet another of his tiny smiles. _Huh_. Shit man, he did really grow up to become a decent guy. Stiles can’t fucking believe it. “Yeah,” he says nodding slowly, “but the team sucks ass since you guys left.” He gestures back and forth between Danny and Jackson. It’s the closest the three of them would probably get to a ‘let’s start over’ conversation. Although granted, Danny isn’t exactly someone who holds grudges or offers a chance to have a grudge against. Still, they weren’t exactly friendly with each other.

 

The sun has gone down and they were done eating when Theo makes an appearance. He walks through the gate like Stiles has told him to on the note he’d left him. His gaze drops to the white suspenders, swipes back up over the maroon tank top and leather jacket until they lock eyes. _Fucker_. Can he at least look shitty while Stiles tries to be pissed at him? His general hotness doesn’t fucking help. Seriously.

“Hey.” Theo pushes his hands in the pockets of his jeans and pulls his shoulders up. “Can I talk to you, Stiles? About-" he scowls and shifts his weight, looking so severely uncomfortable that it’s even harder to be mad at him. Theo is an idiot, and that is all. Brett was probably right. That red-haired girl wasn’t a potential hook-up; she was just a tool to get under Stiles skin. Not exactly fair to the girl but, to be honest, he doesn’t care that much about her feelings.

Stiles shakes his head. “Forget it.” He nods at the empty chair on his other side, “did you sleep until now?”

Jackson and Danny both stare at Theo as if they’ve seen the Second Coming. They’re certainly not the first, and they won’t be the last. Theo has that effect on people at first. Well, not on Stiles – thanks to his incredible sense of danger.

“No. I woke up when you left but I-” Theo frowns and comes to a stop next to Stiles' chair. “Well, I had the hunch you wanted to be alone for a bit after… you know.” Shrugging, he flops into his chair.

Jackson quirks his brows. “The exhausting party? Or the decluttering of your wardrobe-“

“Books, movies, video games, friends,” Theo adds counting on his fingers.

Lydia raises her free hand in the air to draw the attention back to her. “Slow down- _friends_?”

Stiles glares at Theo. “Scott came around this morning.” His gaze darts to Kira momentarily, who sinks quietly deeper into her chair, eyes suddenly directed at something far away. They either had their conversation as well or she is still hoping for Scott to come around. Either or, he understands the feeling, and he’s not the biggest fan of it. “Well, he came to prove that Theo is a monster, which I’d correct as being an absolute moron who doesn’t know when to _quit_.”

Theo opens his mouth, probably for an idiotic defence that won’t do him any good but shuts it when Stiles purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles after a few seconds of silence.

“Sorry doesn’t heal the bones in Gabe's hand.”

“Wait can we- _slow down_ ,” Lydia demands sitting up straight. “I may have a GPA of nearly 5.0 but my brain can’t jump from topic to topic as quickly as yours.” She quirks her brows and points a finger at Stiles. It’s hard to tell if this is a compliment or an accusation or neither. Because yes, he can lose a train of thought and start a completely new one within as little time as it needs to say a word. However, that’s not necessarily something to be proud of. It’s fucking annoying, that’s what it is; especially if he completely forgets what he was even talking about in the first place. “So, please,” Lydia continues grabbing her glass of red wine, “can we get the story from A to Z and at a normal pace?” Although it certainly sounds like a question, it’s pretty obviously a command.

Either way, Stiles tells the story starting from Brett and his plan to ease Theo into the idea of wanting to join the Ito pack to the party – he generously skips his conversation with Brett and Theo’s attempt to piss him off by flirting with a girl because that’s a whole other discussion for a completely different time – continues with the debacle with his dad – again skipping them hooking up as well as the handjob, of fucking course – until he finished with Scott’s visit. It was a wild fourteen hours, to be blatantly fucking honest. He also still can’t believe Brett’s story managed to get his sorry ass out of trouble.

Lydia sips on her glass of wine looking all but furious while Danny and Jackson seem to communicate with glances alone. But of all people, it’s Kira who breaks the silence, “I wouldn’t have doubted you. Just like you never doubted me.”

Stiles smiles and reaches out to squeeze her hand. He’s grateful for her words. He really is. He just hopes that she and Scott can walk away with a different outcome. Nobody needs to be quite as radical as he is. It’s not what he wants. Sure, he can say that he doesn’t quite like the way Scott treated Kira and that she deserves better, but in the end, it is her decision. Not his. Just like cutting Scott off until further notice is his very own decision.

“I can’t believe-" Lydia sucks in a breath and shakes her head- “that is like saying everyone who suffers from anger management problems or is simply _impulsive_ can easily become a killer.”

Jackson scoffs. “I always knew he was an idiot.”

Lydia shoots him a look.

“What? I’m just saying. First, he puts the blame on that punk because he’s such a _great actor_.” He puts the last words in quotation marks which makes Theo jut his chin in the air in mild offense. “And then he puts the blame on Stiles for having ADHD. I mean, that’s fucked u- what?” Jackson bristles as Lydia and Stiles stare at him in utter surprise. That’s honestly the last thing Stiles expected to hear right now. Sure, it’s not like he hides his mental disorder, but he doesn’t exactly shout it from the rooftops either. It’s just that Jackson never struck him as someone who pays even a modicum of attention to anyone outside his group of selectively picked people. Seems as if he was wrong. Maybe. Although granted, his judgement was severely clouded considering their unfortunate timing – Stiles’ crush on Lydia and Jackson being her boyfriend.

Danny gestures dismissively. “He did his research on ADHD to, and I quote, ‘understand Stilinski better’.”

Lydia places a hand on Jackson’s arm. “That’s so sweet of you.”

“I think you mean unexpected,” Stiles corrects her with a smirk, but when Jackson glowers at him, he opts for a smile. It really _is_ kind of sweet.

Jackson clears his throat. “I mean, it’s as if I said, ‘young and newly-bitten werewolves have control issues, guess they’re a killer then.” Which really is getting a point across. Scott has jumped Stiles more than once that doesn’t make him a murderer. But Stiles is. Naturally. Because _he_ is the one who took away a dying man’s cancer medicine, no?

“Or blame a kanima for the murders their master ordered them to do,” Lydia adds tipping her glass of wine to the left, eyes following the liquid.

Theo runs his finger along the edge of the table. “Or blame a kitsune for what her out of control fox did after scientists tempered with it.” That’s really kind of rich coming from the guy who recorded her sleeping. Then again, it’s not like Scott told him off or warned Kira. Honestly, Stiles would like to know if she’s even aware of how Theo violated her privacy.

Danny snorts out a laugh, capturing the attention of everyone at the table. Probably because nobody got what’s so funny about the overall situation. “I just realised,” he states wrapping both hands around his bottle of beer, “that I’m the only person at this table who hasn’t killed someone.”

Stiles blinks. _Damn_ , that should put quite the dent in any form of statistic. Usually, it’s supposed to be the other way around, isn’t it? _Jesus fucking Christ_ , they surely are a group of messed up people. “At least we don’t deny it.” _Like some other peachy-perfect people._ Stiles still can’t believe that it’s too much to ask someone accepts their own mistakes and doesn’t try to shove them back into someone else’s face. What kind of kindergarten logic is that? Scott trusted Theo. Stiles was blackmailed by him. That’s not the same thing. But alas, it’s probably easier to see it that way instead of admitting to having fucked up, right? It’s so much easier to say ‘we don’t kill people’ after an attempted murder went south. After Deucalion strolling back through town, Stiles only waits for Gerard to make yet another appearance.

Stiles’ gaze darts to Theo. “Right? Theo? We own up to the shit we did, don’t we?”

“I didn’t kill that guy!” Theo snaps crossing his arms in front of his chest like he is somehow offended by the mere assumption of having killed someone. Which is funny, considering everything he has done in the past. Then again, the MO doesn’t fit in the first place. Theo kills dirty, intimate, with his claws buried into abdomens and throats. He doesn’t hang people to make it look like a suicide. “I beat up Gabe. I didn’t kill that guy. Period.” Almost indignantly, he grimaces. Any psychologist would have a field day with this one.

Stiles grabs his wine. “I mean, that admission doesn’t heal Gabe's bones but it’s nice to hear it without Scott breathing down your neck.”

Theo grimaces but doesn’t say anything else.

Kira props her elbows on the table and puts her chin in her hands. “What are we gonna do about that? I mean, Gabe's mom is furious.”

“Are you gonna tell your dad?” Lydia asks.

Stiles sighs. “I should.” He turns to look at Theo, ignoring the dread pooling in his stomach. “But I also feel kind of responsible. If I hadn’t told him Gabe deserves to be beaten up, Theo might’ve not gone after him.”

Jackson points at Theo. “I thought he’s part werewolf and part werecoyote.”

“So?” Theo quirks his brows.

“Just wondering. Stiles made it sound like he can somehow boss you around like he's your owner.” Jackson shrugs, and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Theo’s got his own free will. So, he decided to beat that prick up; it’s not your fault.” Although Jackson is most likely right, it still feels like that. Theo has a very unique way to prove his loyalty. Meaning, instead of acting like a decent human in order to show that he’s on their side now, he might accidentally end up slaughtering the innocent.

And that’s, kind of, what they all have to prevent.

“Not to ruin the mood but if Scott knows, and after everything I’ve heard about his opinion on Theo, he’ll tell the sheriff for you.” Jackson quirks his brows. It’s a valid point but since Scott accused Stiles of being a murderer because of his impulsivity in front of his father, he might not pay too much attention to those words.

Stiles waves his free hand. “Let’s talk about something else?”

“Yeah, let’s.”

 

Before he could close the door fully, Lydia glides through the narrow gap. “I need to talk to you.”

Stiles blinks at her, then juts his finger in the direction of the toilet. “Yeah, and I have to piss.”

Lydia tsks as if he’s being completely unreasonable. “I turn around.” She does turn around, makes a dismissive gesture and locks the door. Okay. _That’s_ apparently happening right now. Who would’ve thought? “Do you remember how we talked about Tracy doing everything for Theo?” And straight into the nitty-gritty. Sure. This isn’t weird at all. Except that it is. He’s not sure why girls keep doing that. “I mean,” Lydia continues after a short pause while Stiles is unzipping his pants wondering which of his life-choices ultimately got him into this situation in the first place, “she killed her father because he told her to.”

Stiles rolls his eyes heavenward. “That’s true and all- but is there any particular reason we have to discuss Tracy’s love for Theo right now?” Especially considering that Tracy is dead, and Theo never really love her and _clearly_ has moved on? Moving on might not be the correct phrasing but he can’t really be arsed about that since he’s _peeing_ while Lydia has the urgent need to tell him _something_. It’s probably important. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here right now.

“Because Jackson made me realise that we’ve ignored something important about the general situation.”

Stiles lets out a breath as he zips his pants up and flushes. Still weird. Also, kind of annoying. But apparently having a girl as a best friend is something that differs greatly in at least some aspects of his life. “And that would be?” He asks with raised brows.

Lydia curls her fingers around the edges of the sink before he even manages to turn the water on. “She was a kanima.”

“Uh,” Stiles says completely dumbfounded and hisses as hot water hits his hands. _Fuck ow_. He doesn’t need the soap to be burned into his skin. “Yeah, ok.” Shaking his head, Stiles turns to look at Lydia again. “That explains why she never questioned anything. But I don’t get why that has anything to do with-"

Oh.

 _Oh no_.

The last few weeks start to replay in his head and it’s a fucking mess. He remembers every single time Theo did exactly what he thought, what he would’ve done if he lacked any sort of moral compass – it may be skewed, but fucking hell, it still works. He remembers how Theo popped up with a joint in his garden, how he carried him, how he left and came back, how he went after the Kol’Ksu because Stiles wanted it, how he went after Gabe, after the guy who attacked his dad. He remembers how Theo first disagreed and then agreed to meet the Ito pack following Stiles' own thought process.

This is- _oh god_.

His legs decide that now is a good time to stop supporting his weight, and Stiles managed just in time to sit down on the edge of the bathtub.

“Oh, please.” Lydia tsks again, stopping the water, and sits down next to him, “it’s not that bad.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, it’s _worse_.” It’s actually one of the worst fucking things that could’ve happened. How the _fuck_ could he be so stupid? It’s not like something good would happen to him. It hasn’t in the last couple of years. It hasn’t since his mom died. His life _sucks_. He doesn’t know why he expected things to change all of the sudden.

Lydia squeezes his hand. “Stiles, I know you would’ve never ordered Theo to go after Gabe.”

“That’s not- that’s not it.” Stiles hides his face in his hands, chest constricting. _Fuck_. God, he screwed up so bad. “I hooked up with him. Last night. I-"

“Oh, no, sweetheart, no.” Lydia wraps her free arm around his shoulder and presses her lips to his temple. “If I know something about Theo, it’s that he probably wanted to hook up with you ever since he came back to Beacon Hills and saw your Bambi eyes and perfect face and cute little ass.” She lets go of his hand to place two fingers underneath his chin smirking as Stiles chuckles despite himself. “But if you wanna make sure- you can always ask him.” Oh, _that’s_ going to be an amazing conversation. He can’t wait to ask him if last night was consensual or if Theo let everything happen because it’s what Stiles wanted. Then again- “a kanima is about revenge anyway, isn’t it?”

Yeah, _that_. “But he’s not a real kanima. Tracy has already been a fabrication. Maybe it’s different for them.”

Lydia draws her eyebrows together. “When it comes to the supernatural, you’re the genius.”

“Yeah, but you’re dating the former homicidal lizard.”

She chuckles. “Come on. Let’s talk to Theo. _Calmly._ ”

 

Kira keeps him in check with a hand against his chest and the wall against his back. To say he’s pissed is an understatement. He was so worried about having forced Theo to do something he might not be totally on board with when the fucker knew from day one that taking Tracy’s powers has come with repercussions. He _knew_ that he had the kanima’s need for a master, and he _knew_ that Stiles was his master. But he didn’t say anything. Why the fuck didn’t he _say_ anything?

“We agreed on calmly.” Lydia points a finger at Stiles.

“He _lied_.”

Danny clicked his tongue. “Technically he omitted information.”

“That counts as lying,” Jackson says tapping a finger against the bottle of beer in his hand. He probably finds the situation extremely amusing. At least, if the tiny smirk curling around his lips is anything to go by.

“Debatable,” Danny says crossing his arms.

“That doesn’t fucking matter,” Stiles snaps, gaze darting back to Theo. “You should’ve told me immediately.”

Theo raises his hands in defence. “I can distinguish between what is your will and what’s mine.”

“I mean, we should be glad he chose Stiles as his master, right?” Kira says rapping her fingers against Stiles’ sternum as she talks.

Jackson scoffs. “He can be happy he had the opportunity to choose a master.” Oh, that’s definitively true. Especially since a kanima usually looks for rather unhinged psychopaths as a master. This either says something about Stiles he hasn’t been aware of before – unstable, yes, impulsive, absolutely, paranoid, oh definitively, but he draws the line at psychopath – or Theo really does have a lot more leeway than a regular kanima.

“But why _me_?”

Theo shrugs. “Why not? You’re the only person I give a shit about since I was a kid. You know that.”

“I don’t _want_ this. I don’t want to be Malia's anchor, and I don’t want to be your master.” Stiles clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s so wrong. So, _so,_ wrong. Even more after last night. “I only want to be in charge of _myself_ and _my_ well-being, okay?” He tries to push away from the wall, but Kira keeps him in place looking exceptionally sorry about using her strength on him. “Stop _forcing_ me to become someone- something I don’t want to be.” Someone he _can’t_ be. Not like this. Not now. Possibly not _ever_.

Theo makes a step towards him. “Stiles, listen-"

“No, I’m not listening to you.” Stiles shakes his head. Why is everyone doing this to him? Why do people keep pushing him into some form he doesn’t fit in? This connection has to go. _Now_. “Break it,” Stiles snaps, seconds away from stomping his feet like a little kid. “Choose someone else. Leave me _the fuck alone._ ”

Theo stiffens and widens his eyes. A moment passes, then another one. Theo curls his hands into fists, knuckles white under pressure. Eventually, he takes a step back and another.

“No.” Lydia moves swiftly in front of Stiles, a red nail dangerously close to his face. “You will not send him away,” she hisses in a very low voice. Her eyes narrow dangerously. “Distance won’t break the connection-"

Stiles grinds his teeth for a second. “You can be his master then.”

“She’d have to kill you and greet him afterwards.” Jackson looks so disgustingly happy with himself; Stiles has the sudden urge to slap the stupid grin of his face. Honestly, he deserves it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Theo move towards Jackson. “ _Stop_!” He yells, and Theo freezes on the spot, gaze darting around until it settles on his feet.

“Did you wanna punch me?”

Stiles covers his eyes and takes a deep breath. “This is why we have to fix this.” He lets his head fall back against the wall. With a sigh, he slides down the wall – Kira steps back in surprise – and pulls his knees to his chest. “I’m not stable. I get angry and I lash out- in my head most of the time.” Which isn’t necessarily terrible because he rarely lets his emotions get the best of him. It does take a lot for him to really lose it. He _does_ own a modicum of self-control. Seriously. But Theo doesn’t. And that’s the problem. “Combined with his lack of everything, this is absolutely terrible.”

Theo hesitantly makes another step towards him. “Stiles-“

“ _Quiet_ ,” Stiles orders raising a hand. “Unless there’s something else you wanna confess to before I’ll figure it out myself, I don’t want to hear anything from you.” He looks at Theo, who snaps his mouth shut and pulls his shoulders up. _That’s what I thought_. Fucking idiot. Stiles can’t believe he’s kept something like this from him; he can’t believe he missed this. How could he be so blind? Everything was right in front of him. Brett even mentioned it. _‘There’s the whole bond between a kanima and its master but that’s more the exception to the rule_.’ Stiles should’ve known. He runs a hand over the nape of his neck, then wiggles around for greater access to his phone. “I’m going to call Brett.” Knowing what he knows, maybe they can get out of this disaster.

Jackson throws his hands in the air. _“_ You _know_ how to stop this. You’ve been there.” He gets to his feet and crosses the back porch to stand in front of Stiles. Yes, he knows. A kanima has to get its own identity back in order to move on an become the shapeshifter they are meant to be. Then it has to be killed, so it can be reborn. But this is different. Theo is different.

“He’s not a real kanima.” Stiles takes Jackson’s hand and is yanked to his feet. “We can’t expect it to work.” And he would rather not risk killing him.

“You can _try_.”  


	5. à la folie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT. Can you believe it? Because I don't. It took me forever to finish this. I had at least six different endings for this story, until I finally found one that satisfied me. So, apologies for the wait and thank you for sticking around, leaving comments or kudos, I see and love all of you! <3

The click of the switch startles Stiles. More because he expects lights to turn on than the sound itself. It’s the thing with ordinary objects turning creepy as soon as they do something unexpected. Like a clock that doesn’t work. A stuffed teddy bear in an abandoned house. A circus clown in the woods. A person who faces the wrong way in an elevator. Apparently, a light switch that doesn’t work can be added on Stiles’ personal list. Wonderful. As if his life isn’t an absolute horror show. Let him be afraid of non-working light switches too.

“Worth a shot,” Danny says when Kira turns to point her phone’s flashlight at him.

Jackson shines his own up the stairs. “Nice house.”

“Home sweet home,” Theo deadpans crossing his arms over his chest.

Stiles and Lydia exchange a quick glance. They’ve both noticed that Theo has kept his back turned on the family picture close to the entrance. That certainly doesn’t offer any kind of progress towards giving Theo back his identity. Where should they even start? Theo’s has been emotionally and most likely physically tortured by the Dread Doctors. They’ve taken away enough of his self-worth to make sure Theo is a power-hungry kid who stops at nothing to achieve his goal. They convinced him to let his sister die for his own gain. Maybe Theo didn’t know that in the beginning, but Stiles can tell he regrets her death. There’s something about him whenever he talks about Tara; a kind of sadness Stiles recognises in his father or himself when they talk about his mother. Theo paints Tara as the golden child of the family. The firstborn. The smart one. The kind one. He even compared her to Stiles, and he did so during a time where Stiles’ intelligence was a massive boulder blocking his path.

_She was smarter than everyone too. And a pain in the ass like you. She always looked out for me. The same way you look out for Scott._

Theo could never be who his parents wanted him to be. He chased an unattainable ideal. He wasn’t as smart as Tara, didn’t have the chance to shine in sports because of his asthma. Going off that, he chased becoming an alpha, chased becoming something powerful, chased becoming someone entirely else and was put into his place over and over again by Dread Doctors who saw nothing but a partially failed experiment in him. How do you help someone like that? How does _he_ help Theo when he struggles himself?

Lydia raises her brows and nods in the direction of the stairs.

“Okay, you spoiled brat.” Stiles grabs Theo’s arm and pushes him towards the staircase. “Let’s find us some you. Come on.” Before following an extremely unwilling Theo, he glances over his shoulder at the rest of the group. He’s not surprised that they let him deal with this alone, but he sure hopes they don’t play Dora The Explorer and instead look for something that could help their situation in the old, abandoned Raeken mansion. Stiles really doesn’t get why Theo hasn’t moved back into this place with his fake parents or even afterwards – nobody has set foot into this building for years – unless, maybe Theo’s more affected by what happened in his past than he lets on.

Eventually, Theo stops in front of a door at the end of the hallway. His fingers curl around the doorknob but he doesn’t twist it.

Stiles quirks his brows. “What? Do I have to be prepared for some kind of altar or something? Have you been a weird kid? Is that why you always fobbed me off when I wanted to come over?” It’s something he’s never thought about a lot. Now, he realises that Theo’s childhood must’ve sucked a lot more than previously anticipated. His stomach clenches at the thought of that. He rubs his upper arm and turns to face the door.

Theo shoots him a look, then pushes the door open and steps aside. It’s really kind of rude that Stiles is getting the silent treatment when Theo was the one who omitted the truth. _He_ got himself into this mess. He did this all by his lonesome.

Sighing, Stiles enters the room first, and it’s totally not what he expected. Not that he expected anything at all in the first place. But seeing _nothing_? No posters, not a single plushie, zero toys. There’s a stack of dusted books on the desk. Science books. Not the kid-friendly ones, though. They look like hand me downs from his parents. They probably are. His dad used to be a renowned researcher in some medical field, his mother a gynaecologist. They met at university if Stiles remembers correctly. Theo mentioned something when they were younger. Both probably expected their kids to follow in their footsteps. Wealth comes with a lot of downsides; especially if old money is involved. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if many people in Theo’s situation struggle with figuring out who they are or who they want to be.

Stiles walks past the desk to the bed. The alarm clock on the desk has seen better days. A sketchbook sits beside it. “Do you still draw?” Stiles asks reaching for it.

Theo grabs his wrist. The grip is slack, barely a grip at all.

“What? Did you try your hand at porn when you were a kid?” Stiles flicks the beam of his flashlight in Theo’s face, then back to the sketchbook. “Come on, let me see.” He sometimes watched Theo draw during their breaks in elementary school. He’s never seen any of his works though. “I wanna know if you’re any good.” Or what kind of things he draws. To be honest, Stiles has never been particularly interested in it. Mostly because he’s never had the patience or attention to sit down and focus on one thing and one thing only to put it to paper. Researching shit is much more interesting. Always some new input. Always some information that’ll snowball into the next and into the next and into the next.

Sighing, Theo lets go of him. “It’s embarrassing.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, grabs the sketchbook and flops onto the mattress. Which is not his best idea seeing how much dust flies into the air. He wags the sketchbook around before flipping it open. “Oh.” He can feel a flush creeping up his neck. His chest tightens and he licks his dry lips. Well, that’s kind of unexpected. Apparently, Theo sketches people and animals and objects, random things that capture his attention. One of his involuntary models happened to be Stiles. It’s an unfinished drawing, though. The original picture is still attached to it. “This was our first Little League game, wasn’t it?” The horde of boys looks in the direction of the camera, toothy grins, and dirty clothes. They’ve lost spectacularly but their coach had the uncanny talent to motivate them no matter what.

“Yeah.”

He flicks through the rest of the sketchbook. Between tons and tons of doodles, there are some seriously amazing drawings. One of Tara on the phone with someone. One of Stiles on a skateboard. Four drawings of random people he doesn’t know. Two of their elementary school teachers. He even drew a barista cleaning a table and a teenager walking a dog. Theo’s seriously talented.

“I think you should take that with you.” Stiles closes the sketchbook and gets to his feet. Theo watches him silently while he crosses the room, opens drawers and the wardrobe, trails his fingers along the edge of a shelf. He doesn’t come up with much. Either Theo took everything important with him when he left, or there simply isn’t anything here. Aside from a skateboard with more than used wheels, an asthma spray, and a baseball bat. _You wield your baseball bat. You go after people with it._ He curls his fingers around the handle and picks it up.

His gaze darts back to Theo, and he points the baseball bat at him. “Scared yet?”

Theo scoffs. “No.”

Stiles crosses the room in a couple of long strides, gently nudging the bat against Theo’s forehead. “And yet?” He smirks.

“No.” Theo doesn’t move, for a moment, only looks up at the baseball bat. Then, without any warning, he grabs it and Stiles. Before he’s even aware of what the fuck has happened to him, the baseball bat clatters over the floor and he’s pinned to the mattress, Theo above him. His eyes burn yellow. “Scared?” He asks through sharp fangs, almost too close to Stiles' throat. For all his charade and the things he’s done in the past, Theo doesn’t seem threatening at all. Dangerous. Yeah. But not threatening.

Baring his own teeth in a playful grin, Stiles traces Theo’s nose with his fingertip, then places his hand at the nape of his neck. “No.”

Theo leans down and brushes their noses together, shoulders moving with a silent chuckle. “Last night-" he flops onto the mattress next to him, causing another wave of dust to jump into the air- “I know you worry about it, but I wanted all of it. I want it still.” Theo squints at the ceiling, wooden, dark, spider webs glinting in the beams of their flashlights. “You didn’t force me.” He hooks his pinkie finger around Stiles', and they both turn their heads to look at each other. “A kanima is all about revenge, remember?”

Stiles looks back at the ceiling with a frown. “Do you... do you _know_?”

“What’s you and what’s me?”

“Yeah.”

Theo nods. “Yes, I do.” It’s exceptionally reassuring to hear that but still far from relieving. The indisputable fact remains, that Stiles can force Theo to do things he potentially doesn’t want to do. “It’s like I hear you in my head. Generally, it’s nothing more than a whisper which I can ignore easily enough. When you wanted a joint on my birthday or when you were so tired, you needed to be carried-"

“Well, not _needed_.”

Theo snorts out a laugh. “Right.” He places his hand on top of Stiles’, intertwines their fingers as if that’s the most natural thing to do. Well, maybe it is. It feels pretty normal. “It’s when you get angry that it becomes hard to resist because suddenly, you’re all I can hear. So, I went after the Kol'Ksu, I went after Gabe, after the guy who hurt your dad.”

Stiles tries his hardest to ignore the ever-growing dread in the pit of his stomach. But there’s a light at the end of the rough patch. If Theo knows, there might really be a way for him to learn control. “I need you to resist it.” Wolves can gather enough strength to resist the full moon, so Theo will easily manage to get a hang of the kanima. Stiles knows he will. He’s never met someone with as much willpower as Theo. “Say no to me. Start with the little things, work your way up.” He’ll fix this. _They_ fix this. Theo’s always treated him like an equal, and Stiles wants to return this favour. He doesn’t want a slave. He doesn’t want someone to bend to his will just like he doesn’t want to bend to anybody else’s will. He doesn’t want to be someone’s master.

He wants to be his boyfriend. He wants to be his own person and still be loved for it. That’s still a conversation they ought to have in the near future. Stiles has a hard time figuring out what exactly is going on between them. But he wants to. He wants to be with Theo on normal terms – and if that makes him selfish, then so be it. He’s allowed to be a selfish asshole after everything he’s sacrificed for this fucking town.

“Don’t send me away,” Theo whispers in such a quiet, helpless voice – and it breaks Stiles’ heart. The whole thing doesn’t get any easier as he rolls back on top of him and hides his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck. The quietest of voices scolds him for being naïve. Just for a moment. The thought vanishes as quickly as it comes. This isn’t Theo weeping some crocodile tears to get under his skin. This is a terrified boy begging someone to keep him around, for someone to care even _a little_.

Stiles kisses the top of Theo’s head and squeezes his eyes shut. How fucking stupid can he be? That’s why Theo hasn’t told him about the whole kanima dilemma because he thought that would give Stiles even more reason to send him away, and he did. _Oh god_. His stomach contorts violently. Stiles told him to piss off after the lacrosse game. That’s a giant dick move right there. Holy shit. He curls his arms around Theo’s shoulders and pecks his temple. “I won’t,” Stiles tells Theo in a low, soft voice. “I’m sorry.” Honestly, sorry doesn’t even cover it. He feels fucking terrible because of his behaviour. “I guess my impulsivity doesn’t mingle well with-“ Stiles gestures his hand around helplessly- “ _this_.”

Theo nods in agreement, cracks a small smile.

“You were supposed to say-" Stiles mutters pinching his side, but Theo knows to quickly interrupt him by pressing their mouths together. Stiles sighs into the kiss. This is one rollercoaster of an emotional evening. For heaven’s sake. It’s a lot. It really is – but when Theo kisses him again, and again, and _again_ , it’s so hard to keep his thoughts in order. Naturally, his fingers find their way to the back of his head. Stiles can tell him a thousand times that he doesn’t want Theo to leave; words will never have the same meaning for them than gestures. So, Stiles holds him close, parts his lips for a curious tongue and tries not to lose his head because of the quiet _mewl_ coming from Theo.

He pulls away feeling lightheaded, breathless. “We should probably look around for more of your things.”

“Yeah, you probably should,” Jackson drawls.

Stiles winces and sits up only to find himself confronted with the rest of the group. Lydia waves innocently at him and Theo. “How long- you know, never mind.” He gets to his feet and brushes dust off his jeans. Although it’s not like they’ve been caught doing anything scandalous, Stiles still feels a little uncomfortable. It’s Theo, after all, and despite Lydia being perfectly okay with the whole thing, he still feels kind of like he’s betraying her. Less because of his past feelings for her – they’ve moved past that big-time – but because of what Theo did to her.

“Don’t you two look nice together,” she sing-songs folding her arms over her chest.

Stiles barely resists the urge to flip her off. “Found anything useful?”

“Empty picture frames, a drawer with women’s clothing, old cassette tapes,” Danny lists looking almost expectantly at Theo who doesn’t say anything and stands next to Stiles as if he doesn’t belong here. Stiles can only guess that it’s not home videos he’s talking about. The Raekens never seemed like the sentimental type of family. “Also,” Danny continues, obviously coming to the same conclusion, “a room full of dead animals.”

“Excuse me?” Stiles blinks.

Theo grabs the sketchbook and crosses his arms, pressing it against his chest like a pouty kid would do with their favourite plushie in an attempt to demonstrate that ‘ _no, Mom. It doesn’t have to be washed’._ It’s almost a little over the top, after all, it has been here all along. He could’ve just fetched it. But maybe this place brings up memories Theo doesn’t want to face by himself. Stiles needed over a year until he managed to set foot into his parents’ bedroom without freaking out knowing that his mother won’t be in it any longer. Neither his father nor he sits on her armchair in the living room. Always leaving it empty makes it a place for her to return to. Of course, they’re long past that but some things are simply impossible to change.

“My dad was into taxidermy.” Now, that’s a big _yikes_. “He filmed himself preparing the animals he hunted.” And that explains why Theo did not show any particular reaction to the aforementioned videos. It also makes Raeken Senior even more unsympathetic than he had been before. Stiles never particularly liked the Raekens – aside from Theo, that is. His sister was polite, but you’d always get the feeling she’d roll her eyes at you the second you turn away. Same goes for Theo’s mom; with the simple addition that she liked to show everyone how much better she was. But Jonathan Raeken was just a fucking asshole from head to toe.

Kira steps into Theo’s bedroom clearing her throat. “Charming,” she says albeit it’s not clear whether she means the room or the statement.

Theo hums his agreement, then cocks his head to the side. “Yeah, I don’t know. I tend to draw my victims. It’s less messy.”

“Oh, for fuck's _sake._ ” Stiles shoves Theo who barks out a laugh. “Dude, there is a time and place for jokes. _This_ wasn’t it.”

 

Theo hasn’t been moving for at least four hours. It’s a kind of patience and calmness Stiles will never ever achieve in his life, nor can he even imagine it for himself. But he sits on his mattress, listening to music over his headphones, and draws or doodles or sketches a thousand different things. He pays attention whenever Stiles asks him something but mostly, he does his thing. Which is nice. Having a hobby certainly helps him getting a grasp on the person he wants to be, and that’s their goal here.

But Stiles – after finally cleaning up his room – is bored to death. And he’s never quite good at handling boredom. His father has left a while ago to grab lunch with Melissa. Stiles started seven different things over the course of an hour – reading a book, doing research on kanimas, texting Brett again, who hasn’t replied since yesterday, about their current problem, watching a movie, working on the baseball bat, cleaning his room, doing his homework and playing video games – only to stop six of it after five minutes. 'Aliens' hasn’t even reached its title screen. The book lies on his pillow, abandoned before the second chapter. A box of nails sits next to the baseball bat on his desk. Both bury his psychology homework. Well, he has to finish it at one point. Frowning, he pushes the nails and bat away to flick the book open. _Wait._ He snaps it shut just a moment later and flings himself onto his bed. He still needs to find out where to get wolfsbane from. The yellow one, preferably, which he could use on the nails. It’s fast working and effective in case of an emergency.

He’s just started his research when Theo puts his chin on his shoulder. “Are you trying to kill or save someone?”

Stiles shrugs and Theo backs away a bit. No, that’s _not_ what he wanted. “It’s an emergency plan.” Without turning his head, Stiles grabs Theo’s hand to pull him closer again. “Did you finish your drawing?”

Theo sits down behind him, legs propped up to Stiles' left and right. “It’s hard to finish something if what you’re drawing constantly flies through the room,” Theo says putting his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. He runs his fingers along his collarbones for a few seconds, then moves his hands to press his thumbs against Stiles’ back right next to his spine. “Damn, you’re tense.” Theo moves his hands a bit, applies more pressure and Stiles lets his head fall forward with a sigh.

Oh, this is good. This is fantastic. “You could’ve asked me to stay still.”

“That’s adorable.”

Stiles elbows him with a chuckle but doesn’t feel like engaging in any sort of conversation as Theo continues to massage his shoulders and neck. His hands and fingers are soft and gentle, searching for knots and tensions to work on. When he digs his fingers into Stiles’ right shoulder, his smooth movements falter for a few seconds – barely long enough for Stiles to pick up on it – before his hands move to his neck again. It takes a second for a different kind of tension to hover between them.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Stiles says tugging at his sweatpants.

Theo clears his throat. “What?”

“The bite.”

“Oh.” There’s a poignant pause, and Theo busies himself with rubbing his thumbs in small circles along Stiles’ spine for a few prolonged moments. Stiles is sure he’s dropped the topic altogether when Theo says, “I wanted to be the one to kill him, you know?” His hands fall completely away.

Stiles somehow manages to turn around kicking neither Theo nor his laptop off the bed. “Donovan?”

Theo first shrugs then nods. “I sent him after you.” Although Stiles hears the words for the first time spoken out loud, it’s as if part of him knew that already. Maybe he’s known all along. Maybe something in his head clicked way back when Theo told him he was at the library the night he was attacked. Because it never made sense. Malia isn’t someone who’d send other people to do her work. She does it alone. Although Theo being at the school would be easy, convenient almost, Malia would’ve come herself. But she didn’t. Theo probably heard Donovan mention that she’s calling Stiles and used that to his advantage.

“You wanted to save the damsel in distress?” Stiles offers Theo a crooked grin. He’s not _angry_ per se, considering that this admission really doesn’t come as a surprise. “Thanks for the fancy... scar, I guess.” Theo’s fidgeting drives him crazy, so he grabs his hands. “Listen,” Stiles says ignoring how Theo curls in on himself at these words – almost like he expects to be given a caning. Which really brings up a ton of questions about his upbringing. “I don’t encourage your behaviour, and I won’t condone violent outbreaks or murder _unless_ there is no other way, you know that, right? But the past is the past. I can see you are trying to change.” Furrowing his brows, Stiles curls his fingers around his chin, forcing Theo to look at him. “That’s why I won’t tell Dad what you did to Gabe. _If_ Scott goes to him, I will lie for you _this one time_ because I trust you to do what’s right from now on. If Gabe goes to my dad, my hands are tied. I won’t be able to protect you then. You understand that, do you?”

Theo nods. Slow at first, then with more urgency.

“Good.” Stiles drops his hand from Theo’s chin to the collar of his shirt. “Now, that’s out of the way… I kind of _really_ liked what you did with your hands.”

Theo’s eyes light up, and he smirks in a certain kind of way that would make Stiles’ knees grow weak if he were standing. “I can do a lot more with my hands.”

“Is that so?” Stiles bites his bottom lip to keep himself from grinning.

Theo nods and shoves him back into his pillow. Laughter dances over his face when he bends down, hovers over Stiles like a wolf on vacation – still dangerous but not at all threatening even when he bares his teeth again. There’s something oddly exhilarating about knowing that Theo’s all bark and even more bite unless he’s with him. Unless they’re together. It doesn’t change his demeanour. It doesn’t make him soft. But it makes him appreciative of what he has, instead of tossing it away whenever he finds something better.

“I wanna-“

Stiles’ phone interrupts Theo rudely. Rolling his eyes, he sits back on his legs.

He grabs his thighs. “Ignore it.”

“What if it’s your dad?”

“My dad is on a lunch date with Melissa _and_ hasn’t forgotten his keys in six years.” Because the risk is very high that Stiles completely did forget his dad is just visiting the neighbour for _‘five minutes, kiddo’_ , and he nodded only to rush out of the house for some obscure reason – a comic book he wanted to read _right now_ , buying Reese’s, needing to tell Scott something, random shit. He would come back, and his father would sigh because he should’ve known better. “So,” Stiles says gesturing dismissively, “you were saying?”

Chuckling, Theo bends down pressing their mouths together. “I’m really good with my hands,” he whispers against his lips.

Stiles grins. “I bet your good with-“

His phone interrupts them again. Well, shit. Maybe it  _is_ important. Groaning Stiles motions Theo to get off. He clambers off the bed to get his phone from the desk. He ignores the incredulous gaze following him to the desk. “I’m trying to reach Brett since yesterday evening.” He’s usually not all too quickly worried when people don’t answer him directly at the weekends; especially someone who’s known to party a lot. Still, it’s bothering him more than he wants to admit, even less out loud and in front of Theo.

“Brett?” Theo scrambles off the bed. “What the hell do you want from him?”

“I reached out to him because of you,” Stiles says calmly, knowing full well that Theo’s most likely not at all into asking for any sort of help. But it’s not Brett calling him. It’s Jackson. He’s also texted him asking how Theo’s doing. _Cute._ Stiles is so not going to waste his time with a reply and instead mutes his phone. Honestly, if the werepocalypse happens right now, Stiles is taking his off day. There are three alphas in this town, a large powerful pack, whatever remains of the McCall pack as well as a capable police force backed up by a hellhound. If he’s missing out once, the town won’t be going to shit. So, instead of bothering with any of that, he tosses his phone in the direction of the mattress and turns back to Theo, trying his hardest to ignore the anxious feeling. It’s possible it stems from the lack of Adderall. Right now, he really hopes it is just that. Could fit the time frame. Almost two days. That’s when it usually sets in. Grinning, Stiles pushes the feeling down.

“Where were we?”

Theo quirks his brows, tilting his head with an almost predatory grin. His eyes flash yellow for the fraction of a second. “I don’t know.” He spreads his legs and leans back on his elbows. “Maybe you should remind me.”

“Maybe I should.” Stiles ignores the small, nervous energy bubbling up inside of him. He’s not going to let anything stand in his way this time, all right? He _will_ get what he wants. It’s not that hard. Not at all. It’s easy with Theo. Stiles trusts him. With _him_. With _his_ life. With _his_ needs. That’s where it ends. For now. Either way, they are strangely in tune with each other, always have been. Perhaps that’s why Lydia simply took this – whatever this _really_ is – as a given. Because it makes sense. Because _they_ make some sort of weird sense.

But before Stiles can actually make another move, Theo has him pinned against the door, expression exceptionally wolfish. “Sorry,” he breathes with a smirk showing that he is, in fact, anything but sorry, “but I just can’t help myself around you.” Hearing that from someone who looks like Theo does wonders for the self-esteem. Stiles feels his heart hammer against his chest, feels heat spreading through his whole body as Theo sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. He curls his fingers into Theo’s hair, whose hands roam over his back.

And Stiles is hyper-aware of everywhere Theo touches him. Notices every line he traces, every time his hold tightens even the smallest bit. It feels so good, so _fucking_ good that Stiles panics about possibly panicking. He wants this so bad, all of this. Theo’s mouth on his, his hands on his body, skin on skin. He craves everything. He wants everything all at once if he had the chance. So, naturally, when Theo starts pulling away – most likely because he notices the shift in the mood – Stiles manages to spin them around. “No, don’t.”

Theo groans against his mouth. His hands find his ass, and he pulls him closer. The quiet growl paves its way straight to Stiles’ dick. Theo growls again, like he knows – let’s be real, he probably does – and manages to push Stiles away after a few moments. “No.”

“Are you denying me sexual pleasure?”

“I am denying you the feeling of regret.” Theo hoists him up without much effort – unbothered by Stiles' flailing limbs trying to hold on to him – and walks them back to the bed. “I’m not going to sleep with you when you’re panicking because I touch you.”

Stiles squawks when he's dropped onto his mattress like a dead weight. _Rude_ , by the way. “I wasn’t panicking because you touched me,” he says rolling on top of Theo after he flopped on the bed next to him. “I was panicking about panicking.” Which doesn’t exactly make his argument any better if he’s completely honest.

Theo’s raised eyebrows certainly agree with that. “I don’t want your first time to suck.”

“Doesn’t it always suck, tho?”

“Not with someone as experienced as me.”

“And people say bragging is out.” Stiles flicks Theo’s nose with a grin, who rolls them back around and presses a kiss behind his ear which is absolutely counter-productive to whatever he is attempting to do. The closer he gets to him, the more Stiles really wants to have a piece of that. Even just a little one. He'd be totally fine with anything at this point.

Theo props himself up on one arm. “After all the shit I’ve done, let me do at least this for you. _Please_.”

Whatever Stiles has expected, it’s not _this_. He’s so used to seeing Theo get what he wants no matter whose back he has to stab for it. Then he’s turned around to be with Stiles after his father got attacked, he’s understanding, he _cares_. Stiles would’ve settled for less. He would’ve settled for Theo learning, for Theo bitching, for making things hard on him. He would’ve settled with needing to draw a line over and over again, to _tame the beast_ like he said when they decided to give Theo a second chance. Sure, he hasn’t planned on this warmth coursing through his body whenever they’re close, he hasn’t planned on getting so used to Theo that the thought of him joining another pack makes him feel queasy. He never asked for his stomach doing this weird thing whenever Theo smiles at him. Stiles would even be perfectly content with watching Theo draw for hours on end because it’s something Theo likes, something that relaxes him.

Stiles runs his fingers through Theo’s hair and nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Theo asks quirking his brows, almost like he doesn’t trust how easily they agreed on this. “No more trying to push yourself through this?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Theo pulls him into a kiss, one hand cupping his cheek. It’s soft and too short but feeling Theo smile against his lips makes up for everything. Who needs sex anyway, right? They can totally make out for the rest of the day. Or at least until his dad comes back and checks on them.

 

The bad feeling because of Brett’s sudden silence has multiplied threefold by the next day. He’s not picked up his phone once. His messages stay unread and unanswered. They don’t usually talk all day every day. Sometimes they don’t talk for a week. They’re friends. But they aren’t that close. _Still_ , Brett usually calls or at the very least replies when Stiles asks for help. Ghosting him? Not his style. Not at all. Nor is it Lori’s, who hasn’t answered him either. He’s not proud of his slightly panicky behaviour but if he had any way of contacting another member of the pack, he would. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t have Satomi’s phone number. He should get it.

He also should drive by their house after school. Just to check, to make sure.

“Can you, like, teach them?” Mason asks fiddling with the straps of his backpack.

Stiles looks up from his phone and blinks. Shit. What’s the conversation about again?

Theo rakes his eyes over the side of Stiles’ face before he replies, “no.” He's been staring at him since they woke up this morning, and Stiles really doesn’t know what to make of it – other than that it makes him feel bad. If Theo really is attuned to his thoughts, getting a constant input of him worrying about Brett probably doesn’t feel great. The more or less prominent scowl on Theo’s face only supports Stiles’ theory. But he can’t help himself. This feeling won’t leave him the fuck alone.

“You can’t or you won’t?” Liam asks trying to hide his disappointment.

“Both.”

 _Oh_. Right. They spoke about Theo’s ability to become a wolf before his phone distracted him. It was just Lydia, though, telling him they’ve got to celebrate Christmas break as soon as it starts. With a sigh, Stiles slams his locker shut and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “The ability to fully shift is latent in coyotes. For werewolves, it’s extremely rare.” He pauses, turns and looks at the four sophomores. “Has anyone heard from Brett?”

“Brett?” Liam sounds as if he’s talking about the neighbour’s obnoxious dog. One of these days, this guy will chill out.

Hayden shakes her head slowly. “No,” she admits tugging on the strap of her bag with a frown, “but I haven’t heard back from Lori either.” The worry on her face both eases and fuels his paranoia. On one hand, he’s not imagining things, and he realises that, no, Brett is not suddenly ghosting him, but on the other hand, neither he nor Lori have replied to either of them. And that’s really kind of bad.  

Theo rolls his eyes. “Relax, he’s a big pup.”

Liam sniggers, obviously agreeing with Theo which isn’t that surprising. They both aren’t the guy’s biggest fans but while Theo tolerates Brett – probably because Stiles and he are friends – Liam still resents him for past actions. They’ve both been dicks to each other. Neither has the right to be more offended than the other one. They get along if they must, yet they still bicker and bite and snap at each other whenever there isn’t a threat hanging over their heads.

“Maybe they’re on some kind of werewolf diplomacy event or something,” Mason says scratching the back of his head. If he looked just a _bit_ more convinced by his own statement, Stiles would be inclined to believe him.

Corey seems to disagree as well. “Wouldn’t Scott be there as well?”

“To talk politics about _what_ territory exactly?” Theo points out. While his words aren’t necessarily wrong, he could’ve waited until Scott and Malia passed them. But antagonising both is probably his whole point.

The worst part is that Scott looks at Stiles as if he has been the one who said it. He hasn’t, and he wouldn’t. They fought, decided to go separate ways but he doesn’t want to make Scott his enemy. He’s neither going to reproach Theo for opening his mouth to say something unnecessarily stupid and hurtful nor will he agree with him. He’s just as much Theo’s mother as he is Malia’s anchor. And he will try his best to remain neutral in their fight.

Malia glances over her shoulder at Stiles, locks eyes with him. A look that makes his throat tighten. She hates him. He’s sure of that. She hates him more than it should be possible to hate someone. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe he doesn’t. Stiles made his decision, and he will carry whatever consequence comes with it by himself. Nobody else needs to be dragged into this. She bares her teeth at him, eyes flashing blue although she should have more control than that. She used to, anyway. But her steps falter, and she slows to a halt still staring at him. Stiles watches her control slip through her fingers, straightens his spine- would she really attack him _?_

Theo steps in front of him, pushes Stiles against the lockers with a hand on his chest.

It’s the last straw. Malia lurches towards them but before Theo can even move a finger, Hayden collides with her. Maybe it’s the surprise that gives her the upper hand. Either way, Hayden pins Malia to the ground and keeps her there. She doesn’t do anything else, just holds her down, nails pressing against her throat – a deliberate move, one she clearly learned from her former alpha. It’s not only the most vulnerable place of any werecreature, but the animal will also respond accordingly. Even though Hayden’s not breaking skin, Malia lies still beneath her, eyes flickering back to her normal colour. Hayden got the jump on her, used her advantage of surprise- and she leaves no doubt that she’s ready to do go through with the attack. Her spine is as straight as an arrow, every muscle taut. There’s something wild about her, something fierce.

“We're in the middle of the hallway,” Liam tells her in a low voice, glancing at the people already crowding around them.

Gabe is one of them. His gaze darts from Hayden to Stiles. They look at each other for just long enough to give Stiles the sense of foreboding. But he shakes it off, and quickly forces his attention back to the imminent problem; Hayden hasn’t moved. There’s no alpha who can tell her what to do. Scott doesn’t move either, only stares at the scene playing out in front of him. He looks frozen, almost as if the recent events have put him in a kind of shock. It’s not the best idea to let those two fight it out in the middle of the hallway.

If Scott doesn’t step in, Stiles will. He shifts past Theo. “Hayden,” he says in a soft voice.

“Don’t,” Theo warns.

Stiles ignores him. It's what he does. From the bit of influence he had on the Hale pack to Malia and Liam. To Theo. He’s not an anchor, won’t be ever again. That doesn’t mean he can’t guide them, help them find a mantra rather than an anchor, help them to make peace with the wolf. That’s so much more useful than being at war with it forever.

He’s also going to shove them into a cold shower if the need arises.

Stiles crouches down next to her. “Hayden,” he repeats, voice firmer now, “you should let go of her.”

Hayden growls, fingers twitching. She’s neither letting go nor tightening her grip. “She wanted to attack Theo.” Her voice is barely louder than a low growl.

Malia flashes her eyes. “You’re protecting him?”

“I owe him my life.”

“He treated you like _shit_.”

“At least he didn’t let me die,” Hayden hisses lowering herself down until their faces are only inches apart. “I wouldn’t bank on Scott moving heaven and hell to keep you alive.”

The crowd whispers. Stiles can feel their gazes dancing around the hallway, over the people involved, the ones mentioned. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Scott’s boots. Unmoving. Distant. Despite the threat, Stiles is calm. He hasn’t been this sure of himself in a long time.

“You think Theo will?”

Stiles curls his fingers around Hayden’s arm. For a second, she looks at him. Her jaw clenched, fingers tight around Malia’s throat. There’s something in her expression, he can’t quite read. A brief thought crosses his mind, and he wonders if he overstepped a line. After all, he doesn’t know her as much as the others, he doesn’t know where her loyalties lie. They never really talked before. But she came to him to speak for Theo, they saved Liam together, there has to be some trust between them.

Finally, her features soften, and Hayden lets go of Malia. She jumps to her feet, brushes a strand of hair over her shoulder in a way she clearly learned from Lydia. “You need to choose your allies wisely,” she says after a brief pause, not even sparing her a glance as she goes to stand next to Liam. “Theo doesn’t give a shit about me, Stiles does, though. So, if worse comes to worst, I think I’m better off than you.”

Stiles isn’t a hundred percent sure if he likes that statement. After all, it’s not like Scott _doesn’t_ try to save them. Just because Stiles is ready to go all the way if there’s no other way doesn’t make him a better person to follow.

Malia's gaze could cut iron when she turns to look at Theo. “You better hope I don’t find you alone somewhere,” she snarls getting back to her feet.

A chuckle claws its way down Stiles' spine. Theo crosses his arms, and he replies before Stiles has the chance to stop him, “because I’d have to kill you in self-defence?”

More whispers. Louder this time. Someone snorts out a laugh. Someone else hushes whoever laughs. But there’s constant chattering. How many people took his words for granted? A heavyweight settles in Stiles’ stomach. How many people know about Gabe? Did he tell anyone? He looks around when he stands up, tries to find Gabe or one of his friends, tries to assess how much damage control he’ll have to do. But he spots neither Nolan nor one of the others. They already left. _Thank fuck._ Some of the weight vanishes, and he relaxes a bit. He doesn’t have the energy to worry about Theo as well while Brett and Lori won’t leave the back of his mind.

Another snarl gets his thoughts in order. He whips his head around as Malia makes a step towards Theo. Stiles puts a hand on her shoulder, tries to ease her somehow. This doesn’t need to end in violence. When Malia looks at him this time, it’s despair, helplessness, something that eats him up inside, urges him to help her. Because she needs it. The things that happened between them, they- she doesn’t know any better. How could she? She needs help. She needs-

“Stiles!” Theo’s voice is like the crack of a whip.

 _No,_ Stiles thinks, head suddenly clear again. _I need fixing_. That’s the deal he made with himself, hasn’t he? The _promise_ he made himself. He can help his friends, can even try to guide them. That’s not the problem. It doesn’t involve the emotional connection being an anchor needs, but Malia doesn’t need him. She needs help from someone else, someone closer. An anchor. An alpha. Not him. Not again. He can’t do that again.

He pulls his hand back, watches as Malia’s face first falls, then turns back into this grotesque mask of hatred. “I’m sorry,” Stiles says like that would change anything between them. She isn’t what he needs, and he can’t give her what she wants. They’ve been doomed from the start. But they had a certain appeal, didn’t they? The broken boy and the wild girl. They were supposed to heal each other. But their story isn’t made for a movie. It’s the cold reality, and in the real world, not every story has a happy end.

Her tone is spiteful when she replies, “no, you’re not.”

True. He isn’t. Not even a little bit. Saying it still made him feel better. “Malia-"

She steps closer, face inches from his. “I hope he hurts you,” she hisses, the threat drowning in her trembling voice. “I hope he stabs you in the back, so you know what it feels like.”

Stiles can’t help the bitter smile. “I already know what that feels like.” He's not going to tell her that Theo won’t hurt him. He might. It’s impossible for Stiles to predict how their relationship will develop, how it’ll go or if it’ll end. That goes for every single relationship, even the one he has with Lydia. Scott and his fallout made him smarter than that. He’s learned it the hard way; no matter how close he may be with someone, there’s always something that could tear them apart. But Stiles refuses to let this knowledge break him. He’ll just appreciate more what he has now.

The way she purses her lips, it almost seems like Malia is about to spit him in the face. Eventually, she steps away, eyes finding Theo once more. “I’m going to kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Theo replies evenly.

Malia bares her teeth one last time, then she’s gone pushing through the crowd of people that can’t disperse fast enough. Scott follows her without a word. So much for that. Guess he’s cool with people being beaten up as long as they’re Theo.

Stiles lets out a breath. He shouldn’t get so worked up about that. Theo _does_ deserve to be smacked. By karma. Let’s be real. The only person who is allowed to hit Theo over the head is Stiles. Neither Malia nor Scott _really_ deserves to be butthurt about it; it’s as if they’ve eaten peanuts after being diagnosed with an allergy.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Stiles rounds on Hayden, voice low enough so nobody around them picks up on his words. “The school’s hallways are no place for-"

“I did it to protect Theo.”

Theo scoffs. “I can defend myself.”

“Yes,” Stiles says, “I remember how defending yourself usually ends, and you don’t need any attention of this kind; especially with Gabe in the near vicinity.” Gabe's mother is still pushing for an arrest. With Malia and Scott knowing what Theo did to him, that can happen faster than they like to think. It’s like a goddamn Damocles' sword over their heads. Any second could be the one Theo or his phone rings with Jordan on the other end, telling them that they found out the truth. Stiles can’t be the reason for losing another person.

Hayden’s phone rings. Drawing her brows together, she fishes for it. Her face lights up when she sees the caller ID. “It’s Lori.”

She’s barely finished the sentence when Stiles' phone vibrates as well. He doesn’t even check the caller ID as he picks up. “What the _fuck_ did you think you were doing?” Stiles snaps turning away from his friends, massaging his temple with a frown. “You can’t just ignore me and vanish-“

“I’m flattered you worried about me,” Brett interrupts him too calmly. It’s almost like he had expected this kind of reaction. On any other occasion, Stiles would be offended by being this predictable. Right now, he’s too relieved everyone’s still alive to be pissed off.

“ _Worried_?” Stiles snorts but even though he can keep his heartbeat steady, he’s pretty sure everybody listening to him is well aware that he’s lying through his teeth, “I’m not fucking worried about you, you asshole.” He was only partially having a low-key anxiety attack which got increasingly worse the longer he hasn’t heard from him because of his wailing instincts. Getting attached to werewolves drastically lowers his lifespan around at least an hour every day.

Brett scoffs. “Uh-huh.” He yawns. Of course, he’s goddamn tired after being away for however long. _If_ he’s been away. “So, the poodle’s a kanima?”

“Don’t switch the topic!” Stiles leans against the locker behind him, watches a group of students hurry to their classroom. They have to go as well. Soonish preferably. “Where have you been?” He needs to get this answer first, or it’ll drive him up the wall.

“If that’s you not worrying, I don’t wanna meet you when you’re worried.”

“ _Brett_ ,” Stiles snaps, his patience running thin and thinner.

“Fucking hell.” There’s the rustling of a blanket and a pillow. Someone’s not going to school today, that’s for sure. “We had trouble with a pack trying to get to the nemeton. Happens constantly ever since you guys woke it up.” Brett yawns again. 

_The nemeton_. A pack trying to get to this stupid fucking tree, and Stiles is going insane with a sudden, inexplicable feeling of- of- no. Stiles knows exactly what this is; this constant, overwhelming crushing fear that something’s about to happen. He’s had that before the nemeton. These _instincts_. It has just gotten worse ever since he’s sacrificed himself to the nemeton. So, that’s not a coincidence, is it? But it has to be. There’s no other fucking option. But what if it _isn’t_? This is not the kind of information he wanted to have out of this conversation. Stiles slips down the locker until he sits on the floor. And how did they not know that the nemeton is under threat? Why did nobody tell them? They could’ve helped. Werewolves have zero concepts of personal space and at the same time, they make everything their own business, disregarding any kind of help. _Fucking hell_.

“Oh, here we go again,” Theo says nudging Stiles’ foot with his own.

Corey tilts his head to the side in a curious manner. “Is this going to be a thing now?”

Mason crouches in front of him craning his neck to look up at Liam. “What are they talking about?”

Stiles ignores all three of them. “What do you mean it happens constantly?”

Brett groans quietly, and Stiles feels a bit bad for keeping him up since he’s clearly been awake all night. Then again, he chose to call him. So, that’s his fault. “I dunno… about three times per month, I guess?” _Jesus fucking Christ_. “More or less. I’m not sure. Everyone’s fine, though. Tired. But fine.”

Stiles glances at Theo, who frowns down at him with crossed arms. “You should’ve called me. We could’ve-“

“They weren’t even close to Beacon Hills.”

“Yeah, but-“

“Satomi doesn’t wanna involve people outside the pack.”

Stiles grimaces. “Okay, but-“

“Can we talk about this when I’ve slept for at least 48 hours?” Brett interrupts him again, his voice barely louder than a mumble and yet he still manages to carry a weird sense of authority. “I mean it. I’m dead fucking tired, and Lori’s bitching in the other room because I’m still talking.”

As if on cue, Hayden joins them again, pushing her phone in the pocket of her jeans. When she spots him sitting on the floor, all she does is shake her head.

“I’ll call you when I’m awake, okay?”

Like he has a choice in the matter. “Okay.”

“Okay, cool. Keep the poodle under control.” Brett chuckles while Theo looks like he wants to kick him through the phone. “See you.”

“Yeah, see you.” There’s a small pause filled with silence followed by a click as the connection ends. Stiles lowers his phone, stares at it for a moment before he locks it. Packs who regularly threaten Satomi’s territory because of the nemeton. _The fucking nemeton_. This magical tree stump is going to be the death of him one day. And for some goddamn reason, he has the feeling that Brett didn’t want to continue the conversation for different reasons than sleepiness. Going from Beacon Hills not being threatened to pushing Satomi front and centre? That’s doesn’t make any sense.

Theo nudges his foot again.

Stiles whips his head around. “Don’t you guys have class or something?” His voice is sharper than necessary, but he’s not having time to deal with them right now. He needs to think, and he can’t think with five people staring at him like he’s some kind of blackboard filled with more information than any human can comprehend at once.

Theo’s face hardens, and he crosses his arms.

“Uh,” Liam says unintelligently.

Hayden crosses her arms. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. What are you talking about?” Stiles asks scowling at her. The fuck is she on about? Also, he could totally ask her the same thing. Attacking Malia in the middle of the fricking hallway when there are dozens of other students milling around? That really wasn’t her smartest move. Even _if_ she did try to protect Theo from harmful consequences. They don’t need to make more enemies than they already have.

Theo gestures in the direction of his face. “You have this look.”

“Yeah,” Mason breathes, “that look usually means trouble.”

“It’s a Monday, I know how to restrain myself.” Stiles pushes himself off the ground.

“Was that a joke?” Theo asks but there’s little to no amusement in neither his voice nor his body language. He’s _pissed_. “Because you don’t have the smallest clue how to restrain yourself when it comes to throwing yourself headfirst into danger.”  

Stiles scrunches up his face. “I’m going to the library.” For one, he really doesn’t have the energy to discuss this with Theo or anyone – if he wants to help people, that’s _his_ decision to make, not anybody else’s – and, for another, he doesn’t have any classes to attend. Until AP psychology. _God_ , he doesn’t have the nerve to hear this man talk about shit he’s studied in a different century. But he’s still on close supervision. If Natalie mentions that he’s skipped class, his father is going to be livid, and he will check his Adderall and _then_ he’s going to be even more livid. Stiles doesn’t need this stress right before Christmas break.

Stiles pushes himself to his feet. He’s just passed Liam and Hayden when Theo catches him by the upper arm. “We’re not done here.”

Surprised by the harshness of his tone, Stiles turns around. “What?”

“I said we’re not done here.”

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” Stiles yanks his arm free, standing his ground when Theo advances on him. Does he really think he’s intimidated or even _scared_ of him? After everything that happened between them, the guy actually believes he can somehow be threatening. That’s cute.

Theo halts with only inches separating their faces. “You have to stop sacrificing yourself for everybody else.”

“I’m _not_ -“

“Yes, _you are_ ,” Theo interrupts him. “Because you’re the type of person who’d rather risk being possessed by a nogitsune than someone getting hurt you don’t even know.” He reaches out as if to cup his cheek, but Stiles slaps his hand away; there’s a low burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. Not only Theo’s expression turns cold, his voice is icy when he says, “you do this because you think you deserve it.” The guy really believes he has him all figured out, doesn’t he? That, just because he could play everyone else like a fiddle, he can get into his head as well.

Stiles scoffs. “I’m doing this to protect my friends. Something you wouldn’t understand seeing you couldn’t even protect your sister.” The words are out of his mouth before he even understood what he was saying, before he realised what he is implying. His anger dies with the cold dread filling him. No. _No._ This is not what he meant to say at all. But he did because he wanted to end the discussion, because he was angry, and he lashes out when he's angry. His Adderall withdrawal doesn’t help things. Not that that’s an excuse for what he did.

Theo steps away, his features unmoving.

“Wait, Theo-" Now his hand is slapped away when he tries to reach out.

“You said what you wanted to say.” Theo steps around him, gives a perfect view of four shocked faces. “We're done here.” And he leaves. He _leaves_. This isn’t- this can’t be happening. It _can’t_. He should move. Has to move. Has to get after Theo. Stop him. Tell him- _tell_ him that he’s sorry, that he doesn’t mean what he’s said. But his feet are rooted to the floor, every muscle refuses to work. Not even his mouth cooperates.

Hayden steps forward. “Stiles?”

It snaps him out of his daze. “Library,” he mutters trying to sound like he’s not even bothered by what happened, by what he  _did_. “I need to- check something.” His eyes dart briefly to the group, he swallows around the lump in his throat, tries to crack a smile. “Go to class. We’ll- we’ll talk later.” Stiles turns around, swallows again and attempts to take a calm measured breath, curls his fingers around the straps of his backpack. He fucked up. _He fucked up_. He fucked up harder than he’s fucked up in a long time.

 

Stiles’ fingers tremble when he lights up the joint. He doesn’t know why he’s shaking. It’s not too cold. Maybe it’s the anger at himself. Maybe it’s his attempt to keep himself together that costs him more than he currently has; an attempt that led him to their school’s renowned drug dealer, who made a fucking fuss about the sheriff’s kid wanting to buy weed. It took a lot for Stiles not to break his nose. He’s aware he should’ve texted Lydia, should’ve told her about his stupidity. But she’s taken Theo’s side three times already. First when she saved his life, then when she insisted, he needed a second chance then on Saturday after they found out Theo took over more than he bargained for when he stole Tracy’s spark. It almost feels like there’s no point in explaining anything. She'll only tell him he fucked up, that he should apologise. As if he doesn’t know that. It still feels like everything around him is crumbling.

Maybe he should’ve graduated early, then he would’ve never been in this fucking situation. He'd still be friends with Scott. Maybe he’d still date Malia. He would be at a university with Lydia somewhere. He'd still live in blissful ignorance, knowing his place, pressing himself into the role he has to fill whether it fits him or not. He feels lost without Scott. He feels lost without the boy he’s become friends with in elementary school. Stiles doesn’t remember when he lost him. It started sometime between Peter biting him and Stiles looking for Erica and Boyd with Isaac and Derek. He’s not been aware of how much it would mess him up.

Then Jackson is back. Lydia is still his friend. That’s not going to change. But he knows it’s normal if she wants to spend more time with him. He doesn’t resent her for that – what if she wants to go to London with him? Oxford would get on its knees to beg her to attend their university. He’s _exactly_ at the point he was so afraid of at the beginning of senior year. Everyone leaving. Everything falling apart. Liam and his friends are pack members but they’re not _friends_. They’re their own little group. Kira is more friends with Lydia than him.

And Theo? He messed that up too. Maybe he should just demand his certificate, chose one of the universities having accepted him through early admission and get out of this fucked up town, leave everything behind, start over new.

But does he want that? Does he want to _run_? He doesn’t usually run. He _never_ runs. Not once. He faces Death with a baseball and spits at his feet. Like _hell_ , he will run from a mess he created. He’s going to fix this. He’s going to fix them. Himself. He’s going to fix _everything_.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, takes a measured breath before he pulls on the joint. It doesn’t taste as great as the stuff he got from Brett or Theo. Smoking on the lacrosse pitch isn’t his best idea either. He also probably should accept that he has a problem if his kneejerk reaction towards stress is smoking marijuana. But it helps. It puts his mind at ease, and that’s all he cares about right now.

 

It came out of nowhere. One moment he was on his way to leave, the next he was yanked into the boy’s locker room by his backpack. He almost falls, scrambles for purchase at one of the lockers. It’s Diaz’ fist that connects with his face. His bottom lip splits open, fills his mouth with the metallic taste of blood. He stumbles, falls, hits the ground hard. His brain is too slow to catch up with the task of defending himself. A shoe connects with his sternum with jarring accuracy before he even thinks about protecting his face again. Another kick hits his stomach. His whole upper body burns with pain. But he doesn’t make a sound.

“Diaz!” Nolan yells. Shuffling of feet and rustling of clothes fill the room soon after.

“What the fuck, bro?” Gabe arrives on the scene, and somehow this isn’t particularly surprising. “I told you to _get_ him here.”

“You told me to deal with it,” Diaz replies curtly.

Stiles can’t help but laugh. He’s rational enough to know that it probably sounds completely insane to the three guys standing a couple of feet away from him. But he can’t help it either. And it hurts. Fuck, does it hurt. Maybe that’s karma for smoking a joint on the school’s property. He gets onto his hands and knees, watches the few drops of blood fall from his split lip. “Sucks when you don’t have your gang under control, doesn’t it?”

“The plan was to threaten him to get him to tell us everything,” Nolan whispers loud enough for Stiles to hear in the silence of the locker room.

He laughs again, short and loud, then presses a hand to his chest as if that helps to ease the pain. “Threaten me?” Stiles wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “How? By breaking some bones?” Slowly, he gets to his feet and the low burning anger cuts through the haze of the drug. “By going to the police?” Stiles turns his head to look at Gabe, who takes a step back, probably involuntarily.

Nolan glances at Gabe but Diaz only scoffs, “there are no wolves here you can hide behind, Stilinski.”

“You think I need them?” Stiles moves forward quickly, fingers finding the collar of Diaz’s shirt. He slams him into the lockers, then yanks him around. They land on the ground with a thud. Every single movement hurts like hell, aches in his bones, yet the pain doesn’t get through the anger, doesn’t make him stop. “The wolves aren’t the scariest thing in this town,” he whispers in a low voice, face only inches away from Diaz’s. “I’m not your mother, I don’t have to remind you to be nice to people. All I will do is tell you this, if you consider threatening the human of a werewolf pack ever again, think about what they’ve done to survive alongside them.” There’s a lot of shit he’s done. Most things he isn’t proud of. Doesn’t mean he won’t do them again if it assures his or his friends’ survival. “And if you don’t believe me, then just remember I’m the only thing between you and a pack of wolves that’s not particularly happy if you attack one of their own.”

Grinding his teeth, Stiles pushes himself off Diaz who instantly scrambles away and to his feet, face pale, eyes wide. It fills Stiles with an odd sense of satisfaction.

“Stiles,” Gabe says in a careful tone. “I won’t rat Theo out to the police.”

“Really?” He drawls turning to look at him.

“I’m only demanding the truth,” Gabe continues as if he hasn’t heard him. “I wanna know everything.”

That’s a feeling Stiles can relate to. Wanting to know everything that is lurking in the shadows, about even the smallest of supernatural occurrences, about every little piece of information that could keep him alive. “You want me to teach you?”

“You’re a smart guy.”

Nolan rubs his upper arm, eyes directed towards the ground.

Stiles lets out a long breath. He doubts Gabe would rat Theo out regardless of Stiles telling him everything he knows about the supernatural world. Usually, he wouldn’t risk it either way. But this time, his motivation is different. They know. Stiles remembers what he did once he found out – go looking for it. If he lets Gabe and his friends figure it out by themselves, he might very well shove them into a pack of bloodthirsty werewolves. “First lesson of the week,” Stiles says, “stay away as far as possible. Don’t become friends with anyone involved with the supernatural. Don’t date them. Don’t even look at them. Someone will find out, and they will hurt you for it.”

“What if I wanna get involved?” Gabe asks massaging the wrist of his broken hand. “I can only imagine what you guys did for this town. This is my home too.”

“That’s not my call to make.”

Nolan furrows his brows. “But they listen to you.”

Stiles goes very still. Is that what they _think_? That they listen to him? Do they? Do they _really_? Because this doesn’t feel- Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “They don’t listen to me,” he says, puzzle pieces snapping finally into place. They come to him for advice. “They trust me.” They trust that he doesn’t get them killed, that he has their best interest in mind, that he’s the person they can come to even with a problem that seems to be completely absurd. “But I don’t trust you.” So, he is not going to make any decision regarding Gabe or his friends joining them just yet. He doesn’t _want_ to be the person making these decisions. Not alone. Not by himself.  

“Why not?”

“Instinct.”

Instincts are what has gotten Stiles into this mess in the first place. Instincts are what made him who he is. Instincts are what made Stiles slip into the role of an advisor next to Derek. He always tried to maintain that position, even next to Scott who never even considered Stiles to be anything for him. Not his anchor. Not even his right hand. He was a member of a pack Scott abandoned occasionally for whatever girl he currently fancied, a member of a pack that was only as strong as Scott let them be, a member of a pack that was taught to stay _in control_ rather than how to wield their powers. He was the member of a pack in which every single one was more afraid of themselves than possible threats, was more afraid of losing their family by doing something Scott wouldn’t like.

That’s not a pack he wants to be part of.

Stiles runs a hand over his face, thinks back to the day they talked about giving Theo a second chance. People listened to him, _trusted_ him. People who barely know him. Hayden and Corey came forward to have his opinion on giving Theo a second chance. He wonders what they would’ve done if he told them no, if he hadn’t been willing to do that.

Liam trusted him over the voice of his alpha. Liam believed him first. Liam, who’s been dropped like poison after he attacked Scott – after he attacked Scott during a supermoon, after being lied to, after being betrayed, after seeing his alpha go back on his promise to try everything to save Hayden. Scott did that by himself, Theo barely had to fuel the fire. Still, Liam was at fault for attacking Scott, and Theo was at fault for killing Tracy and Josh; a boy who’s believed all this time that power comes from being the alpha of a strong pack. Until Scott brought back Deucalion, until Scott conspired with Deucalion. Stiles won’t excuse any of the things Theo has done. He has to learn, to change, to redeem himself. But the death of Tracy and Josh? That’s not solely on Theo. The Dread Doctors created a gun, and Scott taught Deucalion how to fire it.

Stiles doesn’t want any of that to happen _ever_ again. He wants people like Theo to have a shot at redemption. He wants different creatures like Corey to be seen, wants new werewolves like Liam and Hayden to have someone they can come to for whatever reason, he wants those scared of themselves like Kira and Lydia to know someone is there who has their back. _That’s_ what he wants. Room for mistakes, room for growth. No perfection. No zero-tolerance policy. Stiles wants to deserve their trust, even when he doesn’t trust himself. He wants to keep their trust. He doesn’t want to be laughed at when he has a terrible feeling; one he can’t explain. It just washes over him and suddenly he knows. There’s neither sense nor reason for this inexplicable sensation that lets him look behind the mask of people like Matt or Theo or that odd feeling about Kira. The latter perhaps turned out to be a good person, but she wasn’t _human_. So, technically, he has been correct about her as well.

 _Kira_.

Stiles grinds his teeth. They are two people burned by the same person; two people betrayed by the person they’d trusted the most. Stiles maybe deserved it. He did kill someone, even if it was an accident, he still wanted Donovan dead. Even if he banked on Scott’s hypocrisy, Stiles still deserved it more than Kira; Kira who’s never done anything to lose Scott’s trust, who’s always been faithful to him, who’s had her life destroyed first by the Dread Doctors and then by her first love who never bothered to figure out what’s wrong and then didn’t bother to tell her the truth about her fox. Scott walked over both of them, but Stiles still felt angrier on behalf of Kira than himself.  

Stiles looks back at Gabe. “I’ll teach you everything I deem safe for you to know. I won’t risk my friends’ lives. If that’s not good enough for you, you can fuck right off.”

Gabe chuckles. Oddly enough, he seems absolutely amused by the whole situation. “I can respect that.”  

“Great, then we have ourselves a deal.”

 

Stiles watches the smoke curl high and higher over the city of Beacon Hills from the edge of the cliff. The sun is setting in the distance. That and the lights of the houses make the city appear to glow underneath his feet. Innocent. Angelic. A piece of heaven. He scoffs and curls his arms around his legs, props his chin on his knees. Such a great cover. Who would think a place looking like this could be anything but perfect? Stiles scoffs and flicks off the ash from the tip of the joint. Everyone living here knows exactly what kind of shit show they are dealing with on a daily basis. At this point, it’s hard to think even those unaware of the supernatural believe they’re living in an average Californian small town – and he can’t believe he still wants to protect it as well as the people living here. He should be glad to be gone in half a year, but all he feels is terror thinking about leaving everything behind.

Leaves rustle, and Stiles glances over his shoulder but there’s nothing unusual moving in the shadows of the derelict chapel overlooking the city. Curling his lips around the joint, he lets his eyes roam over the edge of the surrounding forest. When he was younger, he used to come here with his mother all the time. Sometimes they drove here for a picnic, sometimes they chose to hike here. She loved walking, the outdoors, the old possibly haunted chapel ruins. Stiles feels safe in this weird place because it was part of his childhood. He’s been in and outside this chapel so many times, it’s almost a second nursery. Once he scared his mother by scaling the side of the small chapel, using holes in the wall as leverage. It was the only time she yelled at him, then refused to let him out of her sight for the next four days. His father laughed, Stiles remembers, and shook his head muttering, _‘_ the one thing he’s got from me is the proclivity to break his bones’.

This place holds many positive memories. Even stepping into a broken bottle was a memory he liked. His mother cursed about _teenagers_ the rest of the day. He’s never been here during the evening or at night because his parents deemed it too dangerous because of said teenagers. ‘Why would you meet up so far out of the city at night?’ His mother used to ask whenever he wanted to go there to watch the sunset. ‘These kids must have something to hide, and we won’t meddle with that, Mischief.’ Normal teenagers aren’t particularly frightening any more, and since the place is too far off for most teenagers, people don’t come here any longer.

That’s why he asked Theo to meet him here. Stiles shifts around until he gets his phone out of his pocket. He breathes the smoke out and checks his messages for the umpteenth time. The little blue checkmarks show him Theo read the message, but that’s about it. Chewing on the side of his thumb, he scrolls through his phone until he finds Lydia’s number.

She picks up immediately. “Stiles,” she says in a low, soft voice, “how did it go?”

Stiles has to take a deep breath before he feels like he can answer, “he’s not here.” His voice cracks anyway, and he hastily wipes the back of his hand over his eyes. “Lydia, he should’ve been here half an hour ago. I fucked up. He’s not-“ he takes another deep breath, hates how much it _hurts-_ “he’s not coming. I lost him. Lydia,” Stiles’ voice is barely louder than a whisper, “Lydia, I _lost_ him.” In more than one sense.

Lydia hushes him. “No, honey, no. Maybe he just misjudged the distance. Where is he right now?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles almost chokes on this admission. At first, he hasn’t noticed, shell-shocked and overwhelmed that he was, because he hasn’t searched for him. But ever since he’s waiting for him up here, Stiles has tried to find him multiple times, and he just _can’t_. “I think something happened when he walked away from me. Maybe he tore our connection or- or-“ He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a fucking _clue_ why he can’t find him. He only knows Theo’s still somewhere in Beacon County.

“A kanima can’t-“ Jackson calls from somewhere in the distance. There’s shuffling in the background. “Give me the phone.” A second later, he hears Jackson’s voice loud and clear. “Listen, a kanima can’t rip the connection. Nothing but the death of one party can do that.” His tone is surprisingly gentle as he speaks. He’s never talked like this before – at least not when Stiles was around. This other side is probably something he reserves for his closest friends.

Theo dos it too.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and pushes the thought from his mind. “This isn’t helping,” he whispers before he pulls on his joint again, fingers trembling as he guides it away from his mouth.

If Jackson hears it, he doesn’t mention anything. Thank fuck it’s impossible to pick up scents through the phone. “Stilinski, this boy is crazy about you.” That’s hard to believe after what happened today, and if Theo was, in fact, crazy about him, his feelings have definitively changed. “It’s a fucking cliché what I’m going to tell you now, but- if you could see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him, you wouldn’t be worried right now.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he decides to stay quiet instead.

“He’ll come,” Lydia repeats firmly.

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Stiles-“

A branch snaps, and he whips his head around. His heartbeat picks up when he doesn’t see anything but darkness in the shadows of the chapel and trees. “Hello?” He grinds the joint out on the rock next to him.

“Is everything all right?” Lydia sounds more panicked than Stiles which isn’t exactly calming him down _at all_.

“I thought I heard-“ A large black wolf trots out of the forest. For the briefest of moments, Stiles’ heart stops. One wolf usually means more of them. One wolf usually means _a pack of wolves_. Then he spots the little equally black bag between its teeth, and he relaxes. “It’s Theo. I’ll call you back.”

Lydia lets out a breath. “Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.” Stiles hangs up and drops his phone on the ground next to him, watching as Theo walks towards him or rather, as he walks towards the cliff. He keeps his distance, drops the bag a few away from Stiles, then sits down beside it. Theo neither comes any closer nor does he look at him. His eyes are directed into the distance.

Stiles probably deserves that. “Listen,” he says shifting into a cross-legged position, “what I said to today- I’m sorry.” It’s better to rip the bandage off. He’s only about to make it worse if he’ll beat around the bush. “I was paranoid because of Brett and Lori’s disappearance, angry because he was so nonchalant about it. I’m just… overwhelmed. There’s so much shit happening in my life- I don’t- I don’t _know_.” Turning back towards the city, he starts bouncing his leg swallowing heavily around despite his dry throat. “You probably noticed I haven’t taken my Adderall for a while.”

He hears a growl and turns around again. Theo juts his muzzle in the air. _Okay_ , someone isn’t particularly happy about that circumstance. Which is good, Stiles guesses. It means he still cares. But does he care _enough_ to forgive him? Theo isn’t exactly known to be the forgiving type seeing that he still hates Scott because of something that happened almost ten years ago.

“I’m not trying to make excuses,” Stiles continues locking eyes with Theo. His stomach contorts painfully at the thought of the possible outcomes of this conversation. Maybe Theo leaves with no second chance. Because of a few words, he hasn’t even meant. A few words he said in the heat of the moment. He still said them, and he can’t take them back. That’s not how these things work. “I’m a terrible human being. Especially when I’m angry or overwhelmed or stressed, I tend to lash out and I say things I know will hurt. You’re not the only one who can read and manipulate people.” He looks away again, pulls his shoulders up, swallows. Goosebumps run up his arms, he doubts it comes from the cold of the evening. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. You were- you were trying to protect me, and I thanked you by being a fucking asshole.”

That’s it. That’s what he wanted to say. Stiles raises a hand to his mouth, runs his fingers over his jaw before biting the outside of his index finger.

Theo sighs, a sound that’s most certainly human. “I’m not angry with you.”

“You should be.”

There’s the quiet rustle of clothes, then Theo sits down next to him. “I know.” Theo snakes an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. Although he wears nothing but sweatpants, he’s like Stiles’ own personal radiator. “That’s why I left.” With a quiet chuckle, Theo tugs him close, presses his lips to his forehead. “I thought it’s the right thing to do.”

Stiles curls into him, tugs his head underneath Theo’s chin. He smells nice. Fresh. Clean. He closes his eyes, takes another breath. “I’m sorry.”

Theo just presses a kiss on the top of his head. They are quiet for a while. A comfortable silence. There are no sounds from the city far underneath them. No sounds from the forest. That’s probably part of the reason people believe it’s haunted. Because if there are noises, they mostly come from inside the chapel. It could be the wood working, the wind moving something inside. It doesn’t have to be anything dangerous or supernatural – and Stiles doubts there is. When he was younger, after his mother’s death, he came here because he felt closer to her here than anywhere else in this town. Sometimes he pretended she sat right next to him, and he talked to her for hours until his dad found him, scooped him up and brought him home. This is his place. His mother’s place. _Their_ place. The only ghosts here are memories of an easier time.

“Are you going to tell me who hit you?” Theo asks after a while.

Stiles licks his lips. “Diaz.”

Another short silence. “You want me to do something?”

Furrowing his brows, Stiles pulls away from Theo. First, he can’t sense his location any longer, and now Theo asks if he should _do_ something? That’s a bit much at the same time. “Why are you asking?” Shouldn’t Theo _know_ if he wanted revenge on Diaz? That’s the kind of input that gets a kanima going, isn’t it? Unless… unless it’s _working_.

Theo frowns. “You got quiet,” he says then bending his right knee to prop his forearm on top of it. “When I walked away from you today.”

Stiles doesn’t understand immediately what Theo means by that. Of course, he got quiet. He was kind of in shock, more because of the things he’s said than that Theo left him standing in the middle of the hallway. He deserved to be kicked for that one, let’s be honest. This really has to mean something- _Stiles_ really has to mean something to Theo if he puts up with this bullshit. He dropped people for less than a few perfectly aimed words.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I just… couldn’t believe I-“

“No,” Theo interrupts him chuckling, then points at his temple. “In here, you got really quiet. It’s like- I don’t know how to explain it. I heard you yelling, then suddenly it was barely a whisper.” His bottom lip vanishes between his teeth for about a second. “Guess defying you is working out quite well.” Theo nudges his shoulder, an obvious smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Seeing him like that makes him obnoxiously irresistible. So, when Stiles leans over to kiss him it’s really not his fault. It’s just that Theo is really fucking pretty when he looks like that. He regrets the decision the second Theo kisses him back. A sharp sting makes itself known, reminding Stiles of his damaged lip. “Shit.” He pulls away, presses a fingertip against his bottom lip. To nobody’s surprise, a drop of blood covers his skin. That sucks, but he laughs anyway. Somehow more amused by the damage on his face than bothered by it. _Karma_. Probably.

Theo curls a hand around his jaw, tips his head back. He licks his lips almost absentmindedly when he swipes his thumb over Stiles’ bottom lip. It stings, and Stiles flinches but doesn’t pull back, lets Theo spread the blood over his bottom lip like he wants to. He doesn’t look away from his mouth once. Heat curses through Stiles’ body; spreading from his jaw down his neck into his fingertips. He barely notices the tug on his nerves, the fading of pain. Instead, he parts his lips further, pokes Theo’s thumb with his tongue. A tremor curses through the other boy’s body, and his gaze flick upwards, eyes dark and dangerous.

For what feels like an eternity, they are just looking at each other. Theo’s finger pressed against his bottom lip. Stiles swallows, feels a blush creep up his cheek as he closes his mouth around his digit. He tastes his blood, and it probably should weird him out. But it doesn’t. _Fuck_. He’s totally high, isn’t he? He probably should’ve eaten something. God. Food would be so fucking amazing right now.

Stiles blinks. He probably shouldn’t think about food when he’s sucking his own blood of Theo’s finger.  

Theo pushes him onto his back, and Stiles yelps in surprise, heart hammering against his chest. _Oh boy_. Theo hides his face at the crook of Stiles’ neck. His stubble scratches over the sensitive skin, and Stiles shudders, laughs breathlessly. Theo hums, kisses a trail up his throat. “You have no idea,” he whispers, words painted into his skin, “that you drive me insane, do you?”

Stiles laughs again. A sound that turns into a quiet groan embarrassingly fast as Theo starts sucking skin between his teeth. Fucking hell. _Fuck_. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, tilts his head back to offer Theo more access to his throat. The low growl directs the heat south. He tightens his grip on the short strands, moans quietly while Theo sucks and licks and kisses his throat right underneath his jaw. His fingers twitch as Theo moves above him, pulls away from his neck. He’s breathing hard, pupils blown when they lock eyes. But he smirks.

 _That damn smirk_.

Stiles yanks his head down, crashes their mouths together in a greedy kiss that has them knock teeth. They pull apart; Stiles scowling, Theo laughing. He licks his front teeth, more annoyed than ashamed. Honestly, he isn’t even surprised at this point. That’s so him, it would’ve been puzzling if it were going any other way.

“Maybe we should slow down,” Theo says propping himself up on his elbows. “And get you down from that high.” He rolls off. He seriously rolls _off_ and gets to his feet. “Come on.” Without further ado, Theo grabs both his hands and hauls him up as well, steadies him when he’s about to fall.

Stiles pouts and snakes his arms around Theo, presses his lips to his jaw before moving on to place his mouth next to his ear. “You don’t wanna sleep with me?” He isn’t totally sure if that’s a question or a statement.

Theo lets out a long breath. “Oh, I want to. Trust me.” Sighing, he turns his back to Stiles and gets into a crouch. “But you’re stoned. I’m not going to fuck you if you’re stoned.” Theo glances over his shoulder, brows raised expectantly.

Groaning, Stiles hops onto his back. _Fine._

 

“Kiddo.” His father crouches down in front of him, voice exasperated but soft. He’s not too freaked out since this isn’t the first time it happens. “How often do we have to go through this?”

Stiles raises his head from his arms. “At least one more time.” It’s an automatic response, an attempt to lighten the mood, to make this thing less bad than it seems. Swallowing heavily, he takes the water bottle his dad offers him. He’s not particularly thirsty, but he really wants to get rid of this abhorrent taste of vomit in his mouth. That’s all he’s asking for, and maybe lay down. Every movement makes the nausea worse again. He’s not quite sure _what_ the trigger was – the hangover after two joints in one day, the Adderall withdrawal or the soggy potato patty on the otherwise stale burger from the first diner Theo found.

It’s probably a combination of all three.

His father runs his fingers through Stiles' hair. “You do this every time-”

“I don’t want to take it any longer,” Stiles interrupts him, although he knows his father is right. The last time he did this was at the end of Middle School. He felt invincible, healed, like he doesn’t need Adderall any longer. So, he stopped taking the medication without supervision from his doctor. Deep down, he knows all this is just wishful thinking. But every time he reaches this point, he goes through this all over again, as if trying to prove to himself that this time he’s right. He’s survived so much bullshit, so much even other supernatural creatures haven’t, yet, when he stops taking these fucking pills, his life becomes a mess.

“Kiddo...” his father trails off. He glances over his shoulder, watches Theo pace up and down in front of the bathroom door, working his jaw. It’s pretty obvious that he’s already planning how to eviscerate poor Anthony for selling Stiles weed. Maybe he should tell Theo that he’s basically forced the kid to do it to avoid yet another reason for potential jail time.

Stiles throws the water bottle across the bathroom and pulls himself to his feet. “I want to be me, Dad. I want to keep one part that’s truly myself. Stiles is Scott’s best friend, he’s Malia's anchor, the human, the sheriff’s kid, the hyperactive spazz, master of a fucked up kanima-“ Theo stops in his track to glare at him, and Stiles waves him off- “the boy with a carbon copy of his body. Stiles is all these things…” He curls his fingers around the edge of the sink and stares into the pale face opposite him with his tired red eyes that saw too much and his mouth that said too much and skin that holds together what’s left of him. But what is left of him? “Who’s Mieczysław, Dad?”

Silence curls around them and Stiles feels like an idiot for being overdramatic. He _knows_ who he is. Doesn’t he? He’s Lydia’s best friend. He’s the member of the pack everyone comes to, everyone trusts. He’s a student with perfect grades. He’s- he’s still kind of lost, floating somewhere all by himself, no goal, no anchor, just a vast sea of opportunities that doesn’t make sense, a group of people he doesn’t know he’s close to any longer – a group of people he might lose the second he accepts one of those early admission letters.

His father curls a hand around Stiles’ neck and pulls him into an embrace. It doesn’t make the tightness in his chest go away, it doesn’t stop the tears, but at least he’s managed to keep someone around. At least there’s someone who still cares. “Mieczysław,” his dad whispers running a hand over his back, “is the bravest, strongest, smartest and most loyal kid I know. He can be hard on himself and on others. He can be a bit of an unruly child, but I couldn’t be prouder.”

Chuckling weakly, Stiles buries his face at his father’s shoulder, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater. He smells his sandalwood aftershave, like everything Stiles is used to coming home, and right now, that helps almost more than his words. But only almost. “Thanks, Dad.”

“He’s also always telling me who beat him up.”

Stiles snorts. “Nice try.”

His father chuckles and pulls him closer. They stay like that for a while, wrapped up in a silence that’s much lighter than before. His father runs his hand up and down his back until Stiles can breathe without it hitching in his throat, until the agony loosens its tight grip around his chest. “We'll try,” his dad says eventually, hand coming to a rest on the nape of his neck. “If you sneak out in the middle of the night again, your grades slip or Natalie calls me about bad behaviour, you’ll continue taking Adderall.”

Stiles nods but quickly stops as the movement makes his stomach turn. “Okay,” he says instead slowly pulling away.

“Next time-" it’s bad enough they both expect there to be a next time- “talk to me or your doctor, so we can get you off your meds healthier, all right?”

“Okay.”

“And no weed.” That’s a definitive order, and Stiles knows better than to defy those, so he nods and tries his best to look rueful. His father shakes his head. “Son,” he says turning to look at Theo, “take him back to bed. I’ll make some ginger tea.” The prospect of that has Stiles scrunching up his nose but his father, without even looking at him, raises a warning finger in his direction. “Expect him to be extremely moody, not sleeping at all or sleeping too much.” His father falls quiet for a moment, watches Stiles carefully, almost as if trying to diagnose if the mood he's in right now could lead to something worse. Like it did after his mother’s death.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Sir.” Theo’s has been in touch with his various moods since Saturday morning. Pretty sure he knows exactly what’s up.

“John.” His father rubs the back of his head, turns his attention back to Theo. “You’ve done enough for us in the past few weeks.”

Stiles has never seen such genuine surprise on Theo’s face. His eyes widen slightly, his lips part to say something. He manages an awkward, “thanks, Sir.” Theo’s cheeks redden the tiniest bit when he corrects himself, “John.” It’s sickeningly endearing for some reason.

Or no.

It’s endearing. The sickening part comes from his own idiocy.

“Oh, and Theo.” His dad stops when he’s standing in the hallway and turns around again. “I better do not find another hickey on my seventeen-year-old son’s body.”

 

Stiles is excused from school until Christmas break. His doctor made a fuss about Stiles getting off his Adderall without supervision. Lydia’s yelled at him as well. Theo hasn’t. _Yet._ But he lets him know how much it pisses him off that he has to go to school by himself every single morning. The guy has no idea. Stiles would sell his soul to be in school. Although he is, officially at least, not grounded, it feels like it. Since his father is still on sick-leave until after Boxing Day, he’s going all out on ways to torture Stiles. He has to get up with Theo in the morning, has to follow a very strict diet – _ha_ , how the tables have turned, now he knows how his dad must’ve felt – and do the schoolwork Theo brings home right then and there. On top of that, he has to go to bed at ten. Can you believe? _Ten pm._ What seventeen-year-old goes to bed at ten pm? Not a _single_ one. That’s the worst part of the whole routine he has to follow. He’s lying awake forever which doesn’t help Theo, who wakes up from the quietest peep of a mouse. He has threatened to smother Stiles with his pillow three times per night in the last couple of days.

And to top it all off, his grandparents visit for Christmas. He loves and misses them both a shitton; his grandfather with his crude humour and his grandmother with her uncanny ability to fuss about everyone and everything. But Stiles isn’t stupid. He knows exactly why they're suddenly visiting – because his father told them about Stiles’ latest stunt. And isn’t _that_ just going to be great? His babcia won’t leave him alone until he has more meat on his bones. She’ll also annoy the hell out of his father because, essentially, it’s going to be his fault. He’s the dad. He has to make sure his son eats. They’ll also have at least _one_ discussion about his being the sheriff, and his father will tell Stiles that he should start drinking again. Stiles will glare at him until he admits that it was a joke of bad taste. When his grandparents leave, they will both be exhausted, and then make plans when to see them again because, _fuck_ , Stiles loves them so much the distance hurts more than he likes to admit.

Since he’s definitively not allowed to go to a party on Friday night, everyone decides to come to him. They had to add the furniture from the dining room but with a supernatural creature in the near vicinity, that’s never a problem, and since Theo’s trying his best to charm Stiles’ dad since Monday evening, it's even less of a problem. But his dad’s not stupid. Technically any kind of sexual relationship between them is illegal, so Theo thinks crawling up the sheriff’s ass is going to get him out of trouble. It’ll only make things worse. Stiles knows his dad only listens to reason. People who are exceptionally nice and forthcoming have something to hide, or so his father believes. Theo reduces his attempts at being nice, and sometimes, it seemed as if his dad accepted that there’s something between them and believed Stiles when he told him that sex hasn’t happened. But whenever he spotted the hickey on his son’s throat, they could start all over again.

This stupid hickey gives him more than just a bit of trouble with his father. Kira, Jackson, Lydia, and Danny don’t make a big deal out of it. The latter only pats his shoulder with a smirk. “I hope you made time to cuddle,” is all he says about it. Corey and Hayden look at Stiles, then each other with an oddly uncomfortable but not particularly surprised smile. Mason and Liam, however, appear to have faced a mystery they can’t figure out. More often than not, Stiles finds them staring at his throat only to put their heads together in the next second like they’re in some sort of teenage conspiracy movie – at least until they’ve found something far more interesting; something Liam eloquently summed up with, “what the _fuck_ is he doing here?”

Stiles turns around. Brett crosses the yard, hands buried deep into the pockets of his black jacket. He even wears jeans. This feels official. It also feels different. _He_ feels different. He looks strangely golden in the twilight of the evening. But his little wave is awkward as hell. Something about him seems _off_. Different. It’s hard to pinpoint what exactly because Stiles doesn’t see him often enough. Brett appears somehow sharper, more in focus. His strut radiates the same confidence. His smirk, even if not at all hostile, holds the same arrogance. It’s so _weird_. Something has changed, that’s for sure. Maybe it’s not the twilight that makes him glow.

“What’s up?” Stiles asks.

Brett stops, nods as a greeting. His eyes dart to the sheriff swiftly, who sits at the head of the table. He and Jordan don’t feel like supervisors at all. They’ve seamlessly joined any conversation, even the weird ones. The latter has even gotten in quite the heated discussion with Jackson about football. It’s funny, how they all get along, fit together, _work_ in spite of all their differences and the trouble and chaos they’ve gone through.

“I don’t wanna bother you long,” Brett says looking back at Stiles. “Can I ask you something? Alone?”

Stiles places a hand on Theo’s shoulder as he raises to his feet. “Of course.” He can feel the curious glances of his friends on him when he leads Brett to the swings. Gesturing to the left one, Stiles sits down on the right, wraps his fingers around the chains. “So, what’s going on?”

Brett scrunches up his face, almost looking a bit pained when he stares off in the distance. “I’ve been putting this off for a while now. I think Satomi yelled at me for the first time in my life because I haven’t asked you yet.”

Clearing his throat, Stiles runs a hand over his upper arm. A trickle of anxiety runs down his back. This really doesn’t sound particularly promising. “Ask me what?”

Brett scrutinises his feet for a while, arms hooked around the chains, tugging on his jeans. He looks so fucking awkward, Stiles feels the need to take a picture because he doubts, he’ll see him like this ever again. Brett clears his throat and glances at him for the fraction of a second. Stiles recognises that expression instantly. Probably because he’s worn it himself for a while, especially shortly after the first admissions to universities all over the US came fluttering into their mailbox. It’s the look of a child who’s not ready to leave the nest yet. The look of a kid who’s not quite sure if they’re doing the right thing. “You know about the pact Satomi and Talia made years ago, don’t you?” The pact that, if something happened to either one of their packs, the other would not only take on the surviving members but also the territory. Derek still lived by that, hence why Satomi owns the former Hale territory instead of Scott.

He knows all that, so Stiles only nods swinging back and forth slowly, both feet planted firmly on the ground.

“The territory is large, and with an active nemeton, we have a constant threat on our borders. We know what’s going on everywhere. We knew about La Bête before you told us. But we had to deal with ten packs in the last four months, not including the chimera gang.” Brett juts his chin briefly in the direction of Theo who doesn’t even try to pretend not to watch them – nobody does. His friends aren’t exactly subtle. “It’s too much for one pack to protect,” Brett continues, and Stiles stiffens. No. _Oh god_ , they do _not_ want to give Scott any sort of territory, do they? Because that’s a terrible idea. Scott managed to drive away almost everyone after everything that went down. “Relax,” Brett says interrupting his wild thoughts, “we’d never go back on Derek’s wishes.”

“So, Mrs. Finch?” Stiles asks furrowing his brows. He knows her pack is somewhere outside of Beacon County after being scorned and scared away by hunters; that’s doesn’t mean they should just brush over her. After all, she remained here not only because of her job, her daughter – before she went off to college – but out of loyalty to the Hale and Ito pack.

“Now, there’s also me.” Brett puffs his chest up a little which is more adorable than impressive – but at the very least that explains why the guy seems so different.

Stiles stares at him blankly for a few seconds. “ _How_? When?”

“I found it on the ground and tho-"

“Brett,” Stiles warns, and it’s kind of hypocritical seeing that he’s usually the first one to make a sarcastic comment. He’s just really not in the mood for that right now. It’s nice of Brett to come by and give them a heads-up about the changes in Beacon Hills, but can he _please_ get it over with.

After a brief, sheepish grin, Brett clears his throat and continues, “we’ve been discussing this for quite some time now, and since Derek neither trusts Scott nor his uncle, we decided that I would have to step up.” Again, a certain uncertainty crosses over his features. He’ll turn seventeen in January. Presumably. Stiles is not about to have yet another conversation about werewolves and aging. Because that’s not the problem. Young people with too much power often get ahead of themselves. Scott’s quite a good example of that. Theo too. Stiles really isn’t up for repetition. “I told you about the struggle with the pack we’ve had last weekend. I killed the alpha.” Brett sounds like it doesn’t affect him. While Stiles believes he’s not going to cry his eyes out or have a nervous breakdown over it, he’s not as unfazed by killing someone as he pretends to be. “I know, he would’ve killed Satomi if he had the chance. I know he would’ve come back.” He trails off and presses his lips in a thin line.

Stiles reaches out a hand and squeezes Brett’s shoulder. In all honesty, Stiles would rather have Brett as the one protecting Beacon Hills considering how many psychotic killers Scott let go, let live, or allowed to come back for the murder of mentally unstable teenagers. Leaving this town would make him constantly anxious. Every day, he’d wonder if today’s the day Scott’s no-killing agenda killed his dad or Liam or Mason or anyone left in Beacon Hills he gives a shit about. “You did the right thing,” he says quietly, unsure if he even has to be reassuring.  

“Are you gonna ask him or are you gonna wait until he connects the dots himself?” Theo asks loudly, and Stiles wonders if the lack of boundaries, as well as the total ignorance of privacy, comes with the supernatural hearing. “Because he’s smart, but he’s also astonishingly braindead sometimes.”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Stiles flips him off. Theo only smirks.

“I want you to be my emissary.”

“Yeah, right,” Stiles says rolling his eyes and- _wait_. “What did you just say?”

Brett waits a few seconds before repeating himself, “I want you to be my emissary.”

Stiles stares at him. Just stares. He can’t think of anything to say. It’s like his brain short-circuited, and he lost the ability to think- to speak- _oh god_. His heart hammers against his chest like it’s trying to get as far away as fast as possible. Sure, he has figured out that people trust him, that his instincts are amazing. He’s come to terms with that. But being an emissary? To an actual alpha? One who knows what he’s doing? Hopefully. Holy shit. _Holy_ shit. Is that- is he dreaming? He isn’t dreaming, is he? Shit. _Shit._ Where the _fuck_ has Brett gotten the impression from that Stiles as his emissary is a brilliant idea? Satomi is a renowned alpha. She has connections. Clearly, there has to be someone else. Someone older. Someone with more experience. Someone less paranoid than him. There has to be. This is complete and utter bullshit. He can’t _mean_ that.

“Can you calm down?” Brett snaps startling Stiles. “Your anxiety is giving me anxiety.” He runs his fingers through his hair, messes up the neatly styled strands with a quiet groan. “Do you think I know what I’m doing? Because I don’t. I’ll wing it, and I know you’re the master at winging it.” Brett’s lips twitch into the attempt of a smile, but his jaw is a tense line.

This time it’s Liam who says, “I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

Stiles stares back to his friends. Can they _at least_ shut up if they won’t stop listening to their conversation? “Brett, I’ve never _been_ an emissary. I’m just a paranoid, human mess.” He knows that, and a few people never even opposed him when he mentioned it to them. It means he’s right. It means it’s not just a feeling.

Brett squints at him. “Who was Scott’s emissary?”

“Deaton.” 

“ _Deaton_?” Brett snorts out a laugh. “Deaton is notorious for breaking promises. He was loyal to Talia ‘cause rumour has it he loved her.” An almost pitiful expression curls around his lips and he scoffs, obviously still utterly amused by the concept of a monogamous relationship. Or a relationship in general. “The idea was that he supports Laura and Derek, but since he couldn’t form either – especially not Derek – he tossed him aside for the next best thing.” Tapping a finger against the bottom of the swing, Brett shakes his head. “Trust me. Deaton blew so much smoke up Scott’s ass he won’t be able to taste anything else anytime soon.”

That sounds _riveting_. It even explains some of his changes. _Maybe_.

“Yeah, well…” Stiles trails off watching the grass sway to the slight breeze. “I still- I don’t know, man. Why me?”

“Why _not_?” Brett shoots back frowning. “You make _sense_. For us. For the supernatural. I can’t explain it.” He works his fingers through his hair again and crosses his arms over his thighs. A sigh falls from his lips as he tilts his head to look at him. “You don’t have to answer me today.”

Stiles picks at a thread of his ripped jeans. _Ripped jeans_. Fucking hell, he still can’t believe he’s wearing them. What is his life? But much more importantly, “what if I don’t want to be an emissary?”

A chuckle. Soft. Almost soundless. “I’d say you’re lying to me.” Brett contemplates his nails, then shrugs. “You’re saying this because you’ve never been an emissary before.” He looks at him again, cocks his head to the side with a boyish grin. “Think about if you want to do it, not if you’re capable of being a good emissary.” Someone is awfully sure about himself.

Stiles parts his lips for a response, curt and resolute, but the ‘No' doesn’t want to roll over his tongue.

“I’m not going to be like Scott,” Brett says after a pause returning his attention to his hands. He tugs at the sleeve of his jacket. Frowns. “I’m aware that in our world it’s sometimes kill or be killed. So, people like Deucalion or that old hunter dude and his daughter won’t leave my territory alive.” He swallows, works his jaw. “I just wanted to make that abundantly clear.”

Yeah. Sure, clear as day. But still. “Are you _high_? There are like-“ Stiles waves his hand around, frantically searching for a number over his racing thoughts- “twenty better options than me. At least.” Seriously. Stiles doesn’t have a single clue. What the hell does an emissary even do? If they’re constantly speaking in riddles, then that’s definitively not his forte, and he isn’t exactly good at nodding along with every stupid decision an alpha makes either. And who would want someone like him anyway? He’s messy, chaotic, gets too obsessed with things. He’s paranoid. What kind of emissary would he be if he’s constantly making everyone worry and panic? Not a good one, that’s for fucking sure.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Brett insists clenching and unclenching his fists before he jumps to his feet, throwing his hands in the air. “Stiles-” he breaks off, glances at Stiles’ friends almost as if he expected any sort of help. There won’t be any, and Brett seems to realise that. He presses his lips in a thin line, then sighs. “You really want me to-” again, he breaks off and shakes his head. Lori was right, he really is a terrible diplomat. “Think about the supernatural creatures you encountered. Peter. Derek. Lydia. Malia- even Theo. They’re drawn to you. Mason won’t stop telling the story of how you calmed Liam down in the van.”

“Hey!” Mason yells, “don’t drag me into this!”

Stiles furrows his brows. “That was Derek’s idea.”

“Fucking hell.” Brett crouches down in front of him, grabs his knees. For a second, he almost looks like he’s ready to beg or shake some sense into Stiles.

“I’m just saying if I were such a great emissary, why’d Scott chose Deaton of all people.”

“Isn’t Scott also the one who chose a girl he knew for like a week as his anchor?” Brett asks tapping his index finger against his leg. When Stiles shoots him a confused look, he smirks, “I told you we know everything.” Werewolves and boundaries. Does he even want to know how many little birds Satomi has running around her territory? It could be literally anybody. “Scott may not have chosen you as your emissary, your former pack did anyway.”

Stiles rubs his hands together, stares at Brett with his heart still running a million miles per hour. Lydia’s words rattle in his bones whenever he thinks about them. _You’re the one who always figures it out_. Theo’s calculated ‘ _someone like you. Someone who’s willing to walk into the woods in the middle of the night to protect his friends_ ’. These words of confidence, of almost admiration, make him squirm, make him nervous. He wouldn’t trust himself with a book of matches in an oil field, how could someone trust him with a pack of werewolves on any day? Just because he wants to be trusted, doesn’t mean he believes in himself enough to make it official.

Brett leans forward, props his chin on one hand with a smirk; he knows something that makes him believe he has Stiles exactly where he wants him. “Liam trusts you, Stiles.”

“That’s true!” Liam agrees loudly.

Stiles shakes his head and sighs.

“You helped Lydia tap into her power. Kira trusts you too.”

“Also, true,” Kira calls. They are still not part of the goddamn conversation, and the comments of the peanut gallery don’t exactly help him with the whole thinking process.

Brett obviously ignores them. “And if that isn’t enough to convince you, maybe think about the nemeton who chose you over a True Alpha.”

Stiles furrows his brows. “Now you’re pulling things out of your ass.” What the hell does the nemeton have to do with anything now? The fucking supernatural. _Seriously_.

Brett rolls his eyes heavenward. “Discussing with you is as much fun as having a tooth extraction.” There’s a question forming in Stiles’ head Brett seems to smell because he waves his hand around, “yes, that’s a thing that can happen to werewolves. I broke my tooth when I was younger. Can you please focus on the important part of the conversation?”

“That I’m no fun to talk to?”

Theo and Jackson bark out a laugh. How wonderful that someone has fun during this conversation because Stiles doesn’t get the joke, and Brett’s totally not amused if the disapproving curl of his lips is anything to go by.

“That the nemeton connected to you.”

Right. Sure. That bullshit. Like that made any sense. Stiles scoffs and shakes his head again. He isn’t even going to deign that with a fucking reaction. Whatever Brett smoked seems to be amazing shit. Maybe he also should do it less.

“I’ll prove it to you.”

“Prove it?” Stiles folds his arms in front of his chest, feeling a bit like a petulant child. “How?”

Brett smirks. “You’re going to find it.”

If he thinks that he’s won the argument, Stiles gladly rains on his parade. “Lydia found it. Theo found it through Lydia. Mason and Liam found it too. And Jordan-“

“Parrish found it because his goddamn hellhound is connected to the nemeton. Mason and Liam found it because the nemeton wanted to be found to get rid of the dead supernatural creatures all around it,” Brett snaps leaning closer to Stiles with the face of a man who’s had enough of the discussion. If he orders Stiles to sit on a chair in a corner, nobody will be surprised about that development. “Lydia found it because, again, there were fucking corpses rotting next to it. So, Theo found it-“

“Lydia didn’t find it initially,” Theo interrupts Brett curtly, obviously so bored he intends to shorten the discussion drastically – and Stiles knows exactly what he’s going to say, “because _you_ didn’t want her to.”

When Brett finally acknowledges them constantly interrupting the conversation and turns around, multiple chairs move at once. They don’t wait for an invitation, they cross the yard, leaving Jordan and his father alone at the table, who exchange an amused but exasperated look.

Fucking hell. _Fucking hell._ It’s not like he’s never suspected anything or that he’s never had the weird feeling of something being different ever since he’s sacrificed himself to find his dad. He thought it was the nogitsune. Then he considered this carbon copy of his body as the potential reason. But maybe it _is_ the nemeton. Maybe it is this connection. There’s that dream after all. He remembers it clear as day. He remembers how the roots wrapped around his hand, tight and painful, almost as if it hasn’t been a dream after all.

Stiles shakes his head. “This is a terrible idea.”

Brett smirks, knowing he’s won the battle. “Pretty sure this is one of my better ideas.”

Liam snorts and crosses his arms. “Don’t overestimate yourself. That’s the _only_ good idea you’ve ever had.”

Lydia sits down on the swing next to Stiles’ and grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly. It’s like she knows, like she’s already figured it out. But that’s supposed to be his job, isn’t it? He’s supposed to be the one who always figures it out. And he does. He can figure things out. Until it comes to him. Until it’s himself he has to understand.

Stiles locks eyes with Brett. This is a terrible, terrible idea. “I’ll do it,” he says regardless, and Kira claps her hands together with a bright smile. “But on my terms. I won’t bow to you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Theo smirk again. “I’m not going to butter you up. If you behave like a fucking moron, I’m going to tell you, and if you don’t like it, you’ll have to choose somebody else.” This demand doesn’t have anything to do with grabbing power for himself. He’s making this point because he saw what happened to his best friend. Stiles turned a blind eye to it, made apologies, let it go – it’s a mistake he won’t make again. Ever. When he’s right, he’s right. And that’s the case about ninety-nine percent of the time.

Brett chuckles, but his shoulders relax with what Stiles assumes is relief. “Why do you think I chose you?”

“You’re smarter than you look, Talbot,” Theo says crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“What about you?” Brett quirks a brow. _What about you_? For a second, a bit of doubt creeps in. Maybe this is about Theo after all. Their interest in him has been public for a while. It’s nothing new. Nothing new at all. So, perhaps, Brett is taking him in to get his initial target, and he decided to make him an emissary to give him either an incentive or power over Theo even when he’s not a kanima any longer. To make it official. Or something.

Theo quirks his brows. “What about me?”

Brett chuckles quietly. “If you want to become part of my pack, I can turn you. Get rid of the kanima. Since you’re already part werewolf, it’s highly unlikely your body will reject the bite.” Seeing that he’s been cut open with nine to get his sister’s heart, Theo probably doesn’t need any sort of encouragement or reassuring. If he were afraid of death or pain, he would never have agreed to be experimented on in the first place.

Both Hayden and Corey watch their former alpha with great interest. Would they join Brett’s pack if Theo is in it? Would they join it if Theo is bound to Brett by an invisible chain arouse his neck? It’s hard to imagine Theo will accept the bite anyway. That’s not him. Not at all.

Theo goes very still for quite some time, and Stiles really wonders what’s going through his head. He’s never spoken about how he feels about being a chimera. If he wanted to become a werewolf so badly, Theo surely could’ve found an alpha or create a story to get Scott to turn him. Instead, he remained a chimera, was even fucking smug about it when he crossed the line of mountain ash. If Stiles had to bet on it, he’d say Theo chooses against being bitten. For two reasons, he would be stripped off all his advantages, and he’d become somebody’s beta. Theo isn’t good with following people. Well, most people seeing that he, for some godforsaken reason, chose Stiles above everyone else to become his master.

“No offense, but I don’t want to become a werewolf.”

Jackson opens his mouth, scrutinises Theo with utter disbelief written across his features. “Even if it means you will have to struggle with the kanima for the rest of your life?”

Theo sounds astonishingly self-assured when he says, “yeah.”

“Why?” Jackson stares at Theo like the guy is completely and utterly insane – which is understandable. He knows _exactly_ what it means to be a kanima.

“I’ve been a chimera for almost nine years now,” Theo says in a low voice. His hand falls on Stiles' shoulder, and he grabs it almost on instinct, not caring who’s looking, not caring what anybody might think. “Maybe I was a failure in the Dread Doctors eyes because my body wasn’t fit to be possessed by their friend... but I don’t... care.” His words are slow, measured and Stiles gets the feeling that he doesn’t want to care, yet a part of him still does. If you get drilled into you from a very young age that only being the best is worth it, thoughts like that won’t go away that easily. “I’m no wolf. I’m not a pack animal. That’s not me. I am the first chimera. I’m the only one who’s survived the transformation. If I let myself be bitten, I’d take all of that away.” Theo licks his lips and shakes his head with a small, tired smile. For a second, he looks older than he should be, worn and exhausted from the life he used to have. Then he looks at Stiles, and he’s himself again.

Brett nods. “Solid foundation. Very dramatic delivery too. Still not an answer to my question.”

“What question?”

“Do you want to join my pack?”

Stiles closes his eyes and tries to keep his mind clear. That’s a question he doesn’t want to intervene with. Theo deserves to make that decision himself, especially after saying that he isn’t exactly a pack animal. Which is false and true all at the same time. Theo wants to have a pack. That’s his whole reason for coming back to Beacon Hills. His problem stems from bowing down to someone else, from being incapable of following social norms or pick up on any sort of cues. He’s still more animal than most of the other werewolves Stiles has encountered because Theo acts and reacts based on heartbeats and chemo-signals. That in combination with his skewed moral compass and lack of boundaries will continue to get him into trouble.

Theo straightens his spine. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says slowly, gaze darting from Stiles to Brett. “As I said, I’m not a pack animal but that doesn’t mean I’m not loyal.” There’s an odd finality to his voice like he’s made his decision and there’s nothing that could persuade him to change his mind. “If anything were to happen, I’d leave everyone for dead to get Stiles to safety.” The blunt honestly shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. But even though he knows Theo by now, statements like these keep on catching him by surprise.

Heat creeps up his neck, and Stiles wishes he could hide his face somewhere. He vividly remembers how Theo first impaled Jordan with a pipe and then followed him around like an overeager security guard while his pack littered the hallway in desperate need of help and healing. Malia had said something of the like as well, but she’d never gone through with it. Theo stayed true to his words, and Stiles doesn’t doubt he’ll do it all over again in a heartbeat. Being someone’s priority is nice for sure, yet it makes him feel weird. He’s not used to be this important to someone. He’s not used to be anyone’s number one – aside from his dad, and even that’s still kind of recent. Lydia too. And then fucking Theo struts along.

“What if I told you that would be your only job?”

Stiles whips his head around. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Brett scoffs, and even Danny rolls his eyes dramatically. Okay, first of all, _rude_. It’s not like he’s a complete disaster, all right? Fair, he's a bit messy sometimes. Gets himself in trouble then and again. From time to time he even thinks it’s a good idea to whack an alpha werewolf with a wooden baseball bat.

 _Fine_.

Maybe he does need a babysitter.

“Well, under these circumstances I’m inclined to join,” Theo says laughing when Stiles glares at him.

“Great, now Lori can stop getting on my dick about it,” Brett mutters crossing his arms over his thighs. But he smiles, and the look in his eyes grows fond whenever he talks about his sister. He’ll be a good alpha; Stiles is sure of that. Not only because he’s ready to do whatever is necessary to protect his family and pack, but also because he cares and he knows when to be hard, when to be soft – he’s learned from Satomi. She’s not a renowned alpha for doing nothing. Knowing that Brett and she are going to keep Beacon Hills save makes leaving for college a lot less worrisome.

And for the first time, Stiles feels as if he can breathe a little easier again.

Brett nods. “So, the first order of business; how about you tell me who hit you? I can-“

Stiles puts a hand on Brett’s forehead and shoves him backwards. With an indignant squawk, he falls onto his ass after a failed attempt to regain his balance. “If you think I can’t defend myself, you’ll be in for a treat, _alpha_.”

“Oh _god_ , please don’t call me that. It sounds so old.”

Theo snorts out a laugh.  

 

His grandparents arrive a day before Christmas Eve. As expected, the first thing his grandmother does, after pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, is telling him in rapid-fire Polish how stupid he behaved by going off his medication just like that and how terrible Stiles looks, too thin, gaunt almost, like a sick boy. Does he eat properly? Doesn’t he get any food? And look how _pale_ he is. That shouldn’t be normal. California is such a sunny state. ‘Skóra i kości’ she repeats multiple times, her voice steadily growing louder until his father says, “he’s not reduced to a skeleton, Agatha.”

She scowls at him, brown eyes taking in his form. “That’s because you do not look better, John!” Clicking her tongue, she ushers past both of them muttering something about making them a _proper_ breakfast waving her hands around.

His grandfather claps his left shoulder, squeezes it tightly. “You grew into yourself,” he notes preferring English over Polish since he spent more than half of his life in the US. So when he switches to the latter with an almost sly smirk, it comes as a surprise, “twój chłopaka?”

Stiles blinks once, twice, then whips his head around to find Theo standing at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his eyes yawning. He’s barefoot and in nothing more but his sweatpants, hair messy and clearly more asleep than awake. Holy shit, he’s both adorable and hot as hell. Stiles can’t handle that on top of his grandparents this early in the morning. It’s not even six a.m. His father called him sometime around five o’clock to announce they’d be home in an hour tops. So, Stiles crawled out of bed as quietly as possible and went into his dad’s bathroom to let Theo sleep. His grandparents, especially his grandmother, can be a bit much. That’s why he wanted to let the guy sleep to gather enough strength for two weeks of a helicopter grandmother.

When Stiles doesn’t reply immediately, his dad does it for him, “he’s eighteen, Mieczysław.”

“Who’s eighteen?” His grandmother scurries back to them, spots Theo and her face lights up like the Christmas tree in their living room – if anybody told him he’d decorate one with Theo and his dad, Stiles would’ve sent them straight to Eichen House. Sometimes it really hits him _hard_ that his life took a drastic turn, but he doesn’t mind. Not even a little bit. “That is how a boy has to look like. See.” She tugs at Theo’s arm pulling him into the middle of the hallway. The poor guy stares at her owlishly, clearly having no idea what’s going on as she gestures up and down his body. “Not as scrawny as you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Babciu, proszę”

She only tsks. “I’ll make a good breakfast for your boyfriend.”

“Theo is _eighteen_ , Agatha,” his father repeats exasperated while Theo stares at Stiles with a helpless expression. His brain obviously hasn’t quite caught up with what is happening to him. Stiles is surprised he hasn’t yet turned on his heels and fled up the stairs to hide in his bed. Sure, Stiles has warned him that his grandparents can be a handful, but obviously, that’s far from reality; especially for someone who’s never _had_ a normal family, for someone who’s never had a family that cares too much about the little things.

“You _Americans_ ,” she tuts at the remark. “In Poland, the age of consent is fifteen. Mischief is old enough to know who he wants to bed.”

Stiles wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, and at the same time, he wants to pull his grandmother into an embrace. She’s the only one still calling him Mischief. Or no, she’s the only one who is still _allowed_ to call him Mischief. Because she sounds like his mum. She says it the same way, the same melody, the same sheer and utter fondness to the word regardless of her strong accent. When she says it, it’s almost like his mum would be in the kitchen preparing cookies – it’s like she’s still with him. That doesn’t mean he wants to talk about who he sleeps with. Even less in front of his father.

“Theo is a strong man.” His grandmother squeezes Theo’s biceps, and he jolts staring at her like he’s just witnessed the Second Coming. While Stiles tries to stifle a laugh, his father and grandfather roll their eyes in unison. “He eats meat.” _Oh_ , that again. She really does find every single opportunity to remind Stiles that he should put on some weight to become stronger or more attractive or healthier. She means well, he knows that, but, _goddamn_ , is it annoying.

“I have an allergy,” Stiles reminds her. Well, he used to have an allergy after a fucking tick bit him. It gave him an anaphylactic shock a few years ago. On Christmas Eve too. It was fucking scary because they’ve been in Poland for the first time on top of that. Although the doctors told them that the alpha-gal allergy may go away over time, Stiles hasn’t eaten meat ever since. That shit traumatised the hell out of his five-year-old self.

His grandmother tsks at him yet again, then gestures in the direction of her husband and Stiles’ dad. “You go bring the luggage in. I’ll show the boys how to make a good śniadanie.” When nobody moves immediately, she grabs Theo by the arm again – Stiles has never seen him so completely at a loss, and he curses himself for leaving his phone upstairs – and beckons Stiles over, “come, come. You need to learn.”

He can cook. He knows how to prepare almost everything. His only enemy is homemade salad dressing. On that, he’s given up years ago. But he knows better than to oppose her more than strictly necessary. With a sigh, Stiles follows her into the kitchen grinning at Theo, who’s being dragged along. When he warned Theo about his grandparents, the guy probably didn’t imagine _this_. She hasn’t heard a word from him, she doesn’t know anything about him. But she doesn’t care. He’ll be treated like Stiles regardless. Even better, apparently, since he’s _a strong man_.

The second they’re in the kitchen, his grandmother lets go of Theo and shuffles to the fridge. “Now, kiss your boyfriend,” she orders looking at the two of them over her shoulder. “First thing you do in a good relationship. Always kiss your kochanie in the morning.” Fantastic, now he’s getting dating advice as well? It’s too early for this. There’s too much going on. He's not awake enough to switch back and forth between two languages while having to jump from topic to topic so fast that it gives him whiplash. And people say _he_ loses focus to quickly.

“Ma’am-“ Theo begins finally having found his words.

His grandmother interrupts him. “You don’t call me ma’am. It’s Agatha or babcia.”

Theo looks absolutely shell-shocked at the thought of calling a complete stranger a word he’s never heard before.

“Babcia means grandmother,” Stiles manages to tell him before she’s talking again, “now kiss. Always a good morning kiss. You know, I don’t mind.” Theo quirks his brows, glances back and forth between Stiles and his grandmother – he has probably just figured out where’s he’s got his proclivity to talk too much from. “My neighbour has two matkat. Nice, strong man. Trained very good. And smart.” She taps her temple. “You know that’s important to me. Not gender or age.” Again, she waves her hand around and turns back to the fridge.

Stiles exchanges a short glance with Theo, who stares back at him eyebrows raised and eyes still wide. Talking to her via Skype is not the same thing as talking to her when she’s standing in front of him in the flesh. In lieu of an answer, Stiles only says, “raised very well, babciu.”

Theo snorts out a laugh after she whirled around and jutted a package of eggs in his direction. “You are too smart,” she says in a definitive tone. “Scares people. You need a proper balance between the brain and heart and body. You’ve got a lot of brain but too little body.”

Stiles doesn’t even know why he’s discussing with her. Stubbornness is the defining trait of the Gajos _and_ Stilinski family. Even though Stiles has the persistence of both families, it’s nothing compared to his grandmother. She and his grandfather are the most tolerant people their age he knows, but once his grandmother has an opinion, she will not back down. She will accept if you have a different opinion, that doesn’t mean she is going to change her mind. Stiles admires her for her resilience, but he wishes she wouldn’t throw it in his face constantly. He still loves her to bits, and she loves him just as fiercely. So, it’s not like he’s crying himself to sleep over it.

His grandmother pulls cheese and cold cuts out of the fridge. Stiles watches her with fond exasperation. This is going to be one hell of a visit, especially if both his grandparents are going to call Theo his boyfriend consistently. Which- he likes the sound of that, but it’s not like they’ve talked about it or anything. Maybe they should. Not that Stiles likes labels all too much but in this particular case it’s probably very necessary. Just to make sure they’re on the same page.

Theo grabs his hand, making Stiles jolt, and pulls him close when he leans against the kitchen counter. “I like the rule,” he says loosely wrapping his arms around his waist. “You should kiss your boyfriend first thing in the morning.”

Chuckling quietly, Stiles curls his arms around Theo’s shoulders. “Boyfriend, huh?” He clicks his tongue and cocks his head to the side, even though mocking him is kind of pointless with his supernatural senses. The guy knows far too well that his heart sped up at his words. “Wonder where I can find one.”

Theo pinches his side in retaliation, then kisses him before Stiles has the chance to complain. His mouth is soft, and his hands gentle. Stiles can’t help but melt against him – at least until Theo parts his lips. “Ugh,” he mutters into the kiss. “Fucking peppermint.”

“Language!” His grandmother calls over her shoulder.

Stiles rolls his eyes, but Theo flicks his nose. “Do you prefer morning breath?”

“The judge is still out on that one.” Because his distaste for peppermint goes farther than simple hatred.

“Mischief.” Her demanding tone drags Stiles’ attention away from Theo, and he turns around to look at his grandmother. “Co to takiego?” She waves a bright green package around before scowling at it.

Oh _good_. She found his vegetarian breakfast sausages which he bought so she wouldn’t complain that he can’t eat the same things they do. She’s very particular about breakfast and won’t allow pancakes or waffles or simply a sandwich. ‘Breakfast prepares you for a hard day of work,’ she always argues. ‘You need something substantial.’ It’s not the traditional Polish way to start the day with something sweet. It has to have a large range, and sausages are an important part of the Polish breakfast. Stiles naively thought she’d only be disgruntled about the bacon he refused to buy for his father. “To moje. Babciu, prosze.” For fuck's sake, those are too many discussions before his first coffee. “Let me make breakfast. You’re our guest.”

“Cut the vegetables.” Reduced to a swamper, he can’t believe it.

Stiles sighs and turns back to Theo. “Can you make some coffee?” He asks tugging at Theo’s earlobe absentmindedly before he adds in a whisper, “a strong one. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Theo chuckles, nods, and Stiles can’t help himself but kiss him again. Now that everything’s settled, now that he knows what he wants, that the kanima has gotten quieter, that Stiles just feels like himself and good and _right_ , it’s even better than before. Theo tightens his grip, and Stiles runs his fingers through the short strands. He closes his eyes, hums. _Boyfriend_. The word pops up randomly in his head. He _really_ likes the sound of that. There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth he can’t stop. With everything clicking into place, there’s one more thing he realised. “À la folie doesn’t sound quite so scary anymore.”

Theo’s eyes light up and he _smiles_. His smile is so pretty. _Fucking hell_ , is he pretty. Stiles can’t believe Theo is interested in him, dates him, wants to have sex with him. Oh boy. _Holy crap_. Stiles can’t stop fucking grinning.

“Mischief, the vegetables.”

Stiles groans. “I’m having a moment with my boyfriend.”

“You can have your moment after breakfast,” his grandmother tells him eyeing them both with a smile. “Breakfast, then love. Go on now, Mischief, you wanted to help.” Technically, he wanted to make breakfast himself to prove to her that he isn’t totally incapable of surviving and does not need to be taught how to prepare any dish; he’s learned everything he needed to learn from his mother. The only person she has to worry about is his father because the second he has the chance he is going to eat all the bacon and burgers he can in one go.

Sighing Stiles kisses Theo quickly. “Coffee,” he whispers against his mouth. “I need caffeine to survive my family.”

“How do you think I feel?”

“Honoured to be allowed to join an exclusive Stilinski-Gajos’ śniadanie and Christmas.”

Theo snorts out a laugh. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Asshole.”

“Mischief, the _vegetables_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put in translations for the Polish words but I don't know if they show up on mobile as well, so, sorry if they don't (also, if anybody knows how to do that, it'll be greatly appreciated if you hit me up on my tumblr [My Tumblr](https://msmischief101.tumblr.com/) or somewhere else.) Just hover over the words, and the translation shows up! 
> 
> On that note, I studied Polish for a short period of time years ago. I tried my best to remember the few things I've learned. If there are any mistakes, I'm sorry for that too.


End file.
